


Bird In A Cage

by helloBoBo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crime, Crimes & Criminals, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, England (Country), Eventual Romance, F/M, Gentle Sex, Height Differences, Hurt/Comfort, Italian Mafia, Jail, M/M, Murder, Murderers, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Plot Twists, Prison, Prison Sex, Protectiveness, Revenge, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloBoBo/pseuds/helloBoBo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enzo Lucelli is just 19 when he's sent down to Grey Hill Correctional Facility for a crime he didn't commit. Covering for Luca Arrigoni, a ruthless murderer and the killer-on-a-leash for Montie Pellio, one of England's top criminal kingpins, Enzo is told to find Danio Giovanetti in prison and ask him for protection. While Montie Pellio works on getting the judge to grant Enzo parole, Danio is less than pleased to be asked to play babysitter to a terrified kid, but agrees thanks to both Montie Pellio's alliance with his own boss and the unspoken guarantee that should any harm come to Enzo, Luca will personally come after him. Enzo's more capable than people give him credit for, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into The Den

**Author's Note:**

> A classic blend of "terrified kid goes to prison and makes friends with the biggest bloke there" and "little kid melts the heart of criminal and is looked after by him" with just a splash of milk and sugar and a generous sprinkling of Mafia. 
> 
> Gentle character/usually terrifying character is apparently all I can write.

_A bird._

     That was Danio’s first thought when Gregson brought in the man—no, the _boy_ —who was apparently to be his new cellmate. Small frame, wide dark brown eyes, floppy, gently curling hair that appeared dark but shone wine red in stray rays of light, and skin like the milk the prisoners got with every meal. He was clutching the thin canvas bag all prisoners were issued when they first arrived; a change of uniform, basic toiletries such as a toothbrush, toothpaste, safety razor, and soap, whatever precious few items he had been allowed from the outside, and a sandwich. The guard was speaking to him, probably giving him the rundown of the daily schedule, and then he was clapping him on the shoulder and turning towards Danio, who was lying sprawled on his bunk.

     “Giovanetti,” Gregson said sharply. Danio looked up from the book he had been reading, or rather, pretending to read for the last several minutes, and feigned surprise, as if he hadn’t noticed his visitors.

     “’sup, mate?”

     “ _Sir_ ,” the guard corrected half-heartedly. Danio ignored him. He idly dog-eared the page he was on in the book and set it down. “This is Enzo Lucelli. Another Italian, like you. He’s going to be your new cellmate. Do your best not to send this one to hospital, yeah?” Gregson said, sounding exasperated.

     “Y’know that pervert had it comin',” Danio said lazily. He stretched and sat up on his bunk to rest his feet on the floor. “I did us all a favour, didn’t I? Still got three weeks in the Hole for me troubles. Is he out yet, by the way?”

     If possible, Enzo The Bird’s eyes had gotten wider during this exchange and he clutched the bag tighter to himself as if it would offer him some sort of protection. Danio winked at him, flashing some teeth. The boy flinched.

     “Not yet. Word is he won’t be able to leave hospital for at least another week or two,” the guard said carefully, clearly trying to mask the hint of approval in his voice but failing. Paedophiles didn’t have many friends in prison. “Do your best, though, yeah? I doubt this one could do anything to get on your nerves, but still.” He turned to leave, but seemed to have an afterthought and turned back slightly. “You can be a right bastard, y’know, but keep an eye on him, yeah? Punk looks like a slap would shatter his face. Since when did they lock up babes fresh from their mums with the big boys?” Gregson seemed genuinely concerned.

     “Blame this fucked up system we got, mate. Overcrowding, poor sentencing, and all that, innit. I got it, chill. Get back to your post before your bleedin’ heart pops out and messes all over me floor,” Danio said, waving him away.

     The guard gave Enzo an almost fatherly look and clapped him on the shoulder again. “Good luck, kid. Giovanetti’s a decent bloke, give ‘im half a chance.” Then he was gone and it was just Enzo and Danio.

     It was like a lamb staring at the lion whose cage it had been thrown into, with the lamb trying to figure out if the lion was hungry enough to eat it right that second and whether or not there was anything it could do to escape. Enzo was staring at Danio with eyes that looked like they were about to pop right out of his head, they were so big. Danio could already see this being a problem, indirectly or directly. He sighed, as if a great burden had been placed upon his shoulders. “Quit shakin’ there and go on and put your stuff on the top bunk.”

     The boy flinched slightly at the sound of Danio’s voice, but took the directive to mean that it was alright to speak. “You’re Danio?” he asked. His voice was soft with a slight Italian accent—so a first generation brat, then—and if the words themselves hadn’t already raised his guard, it would have gotten Danio’s attention right away. Its clarity was like light to a moth.

     “Who wants to know?” he replied casually, sizing the kid up and looking at him with a newly appraising eye.

     Bit below average height, small frame with minimum muscle, pretty face. But…Enzo could very well be a trap sent in by a rival Family to knock him off . It was the perfect setup, now that he thought about it. Gentle, unassuming looking kid, but probably crazier than a crackhead looking for a fix. He looked carefully for any signs of drug use. Annoyingly, he couldn’t tell if the kid’s trembling was from nerves or from withdrawal. But it would be convenient if someone on the outside pulled strings with the Warden to have him assigned as Danio’s cellmate.

     Enzo stepped forward hesitantly and Danio casually slid a hand beneath his pillow, seeking out the slit in the sheets where he kept his shiv. “Me b-boss said to look for you once I got in.”

     The words ‘setup’ and ‘convenient’ keep rattling around in Danio’s brain. “Yeah? And who’s your ‘boss’?” he said. His fingers found the shiv and curled around it. It was made out of a painstakingly sharpened toothbrush handle with the blade off a razor attached on one end so it could slice as well as stab.

     “Montie Pellio?”

     Montie Pellio. Danio relaxed and was embarrassed to say a flood of relief went through him. Montie Pellio was, while not strictly his own Family, in alliance with his boss and was ‘safe’. He let go of his shiv, making sure he covered his action by stretching lazily.

     “He said y-you’d take care of me in here,” Enzo said hesitantly, clearly unsure if he was able to trust a man who had apparently sent his former cellmate to hospital, and severely at that.

     “Well, that’s me,” Danio said cheerfully. “If it’s comin' from Pellio, it’s the truth. Pellio’s boys are our boys, too. So what you in for? Not murder, goin' by the looks of you.”

     Enzo was clearly uncomfortable with the question. He shifted his weight to one foot and clutched his bag even tighter. “I, uhm. Actually, I killed a bloke that owed money to Pellio.”

     Now _that_ was a lie if Danio had ever heard one and he laughed. He laughed until tears peaked at the corners of his eyes and he shook the bunk beds with his laughter. Enzo looked at him with surprise and a little indignation. “Oh, oh, that’s a good one,” Danio gasped, wiping his eyes. “Oh, thanks, kid, I haven’t laughed like that in forever. But seriously now, what is it? I hate liars, kid.”

     Enzo’s face was unhappy and his trembling had gotten worse. Santa bloody Maria, the kid really was like a bird. One of those little twitchy brown ones that sat on fences and looked at people walking by with black eyes bright as jewels.

     “I ain’t goin’ rat you out, kid, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve got an idea why you’re here, but I’d prefer to hear it from you,” Danio drawled. He patted the space on the bed next to him. “C’mon, sit next to ol’ Danio and whisper what it is. Ears are everywhere, after all.”

     It was like watching a condemned man walk to the noose. When Enzo finally forced himself to sit down, he was wound up so tight, Danio was sure he could have broken a board over his head and the kid wouldn’t even have felt it.

     “Well?’ Danio prompted.

     The kid plucked nervously at the neck of the bag he had been clutching the whole time. He had slim, shapely fingers, almost like a woman’s hands. “Y’know Luca Arrigoni?”

     Luca ‘The Artist’ Arrigoni. The crazy bastard could carve up someone’s face till they were no longer recognisable. And he did. Often. Enjoyed it as well, the twisted fucker. Arrigoni owed some sort of life debt to Montie Pellio, which was the only reason Pellio was able to keep him on a tight leash. It was also one of the reasons Danio’s own boss upheld their alliance with Pellio’s Family and paid a percentage of their profits annually as a token of respect. It’s better to be the friend of the mad dog’s master than the prey of the mad dog.

     Enzo happened to glance up at Danio and seeing the look on his face, smiled for the first time and waved a hand reassuringly. It fluttered before Danio’s face like a dove’s wing. “He’s actually a really decent bloke if you ignore all the bad things he does,” he said softly. “Luca’s the one who picked me up several years ago when some big kids beat me up on the street. I didn’t want to go home and show me mum, so I was hidin’ out on some stoop when Luca passed me. Took me to a small Italian joint, fed me, and told me to tell his name to anybody who tried to mess with me again. He also gave me Pellio’s name and told me to come by one day. He’s like a big brother to me.”

     Danio made a noncommittal noise, though inside, his mind was absolutely reeling from this revelation. Luca ‘The’ fucking ‘Artist’ Arrigoni, saving messed up kids off the street? When he’d just as quickly turn around and stab some poor sod through the eye and pop it out like a martini olive? And make the man eat it, too?

     Then again, Danio thought, looking at Enzo sideways with a critical eye, the brat did seem more than capable of inspiring a certain amount of sympathy in the most unexpected people. Gregson, who had delivered Enzo to the cell, really was of the decent sort for a bloody pig, but sympathetic? Hardly.

     “So you’re in here because of Luca?” he finally said bluntly.

     “I guess,” Enzo said, his voice getting even smaller. “Luca got pinched by some coppers that was doin' a raid on a bookie’s house and they got his mug and prints. They let him go, though. A week ago, Luca brought me along on a collectin' route. Wanted to show me how it’s done, since I’m old enough now to start in on the proper stuff. One of our borrowers wouldn’t pay up and started gettin’ rough. Luca was doin’ the talkin’ but the bloke pushed me instead, and I fell. Luca got mad and just pulled his knife out and stabbed the poor sod in the throat and killed him.” Enzo was quiet for a moment before adding softly, “There was so much blood. I never saw that much before….”

     Enzo fell silent, his face slightly pinched. Danio realised he was probably reliving what it was like to see a man killed in front of him for the first time. He supposed he could sympathise, though killing a man himself was probably different than _watching_ it happen. That had also been many years ago, with many bodies afterwards. Enzo suddenly seemed to shake himself a little and continued.

     “The bloke was jus' a dry cleaner doing a bit of gamblin’ on the side, nothin’ criminal, so his boys panicked and ran for the police. We had to run, but I’d twisted me ankle funny when I fell and didn’t make it far. Usually when Luca… goes feral,” Enzo said. Danio heard ‘batshit fucked up’. “Ain’t nobody there, y’know? But there was witnesses this time, and Luca was still a bit off. We had to get out, but I knew that Luca couldn’t carry me the way he was, so…I told him to just go. Pellio and me are the only ones Luca ever listens to,” Enzo said with a strange sort of pride. Danio could believe that. His mother, rest her soul, used to pray fervently for his own soul when she realised he was sinking deeper and deeper into the underbelly of the city. _And the innocent shall turn the hearts of murderers and thieves and the wolves will protect the lambs._ “He didn’t want to, but I made him.”

     How, Danio was actually dying to know. He refrained from asking, though, and let Enzo continue.

     “I remembered Luca had had his prints done, so I sort of smeared me fingers up and down the knife to cover any prints and put me own on it. It took the judge less than ten minutes to convict me through the evidence, though he kept askin' if the witnesses had been drinkin’, because he didn’t believe I done it.” Enzo laughed. It sounded a little frightened.

     Danio let the story sink in. He felt like his world had been shaken a little. Crazy Luca had a soft side, apparently, and this bird kid had more guts to him than he’d thought.

     “Pellio let you take the rap?”

     “I made him,” Enzo said. “I didn’t want Luca being locked away. He’d go insane in a cage. He already went to jail once when he was younger. Boss said he was never the same afterwards. He’s a good man, just…different.”

     Danio snorted. “I don’t know ‘bout ‘good man’, kid, Luca’s done some pretty ‘not good’ shit, and I’d put money on the fact that he’s already insane, but if you got a bloke like 'im backin’ you up, more power to you, kid.”

     “I guess….” Enzo looked as if he didn’t quite agree with what Danio was saying but didn’t want to argue. Not with a new cellmate and especially not with the man he was asking for protection.

    “Anyways,” Danio said. “How long you in for?”

     “The judge thought maybe I was actin' in self-defence and that’s how the lawyer Pellio got for me played it, so I got charged with manslaughter. I also just turned nineteen, so I fell under the twenty-one bar. I’m officially eligible for parole in ten years, though Pellio said he’d work the judge and get me out earlier.” Enzo voice broke dangerously towards the end, as if he was finally realising just how long he could be in prison. His face flushed and he averted his face, though not before Danio could catch a glimpse of something wet sliding down his cheek.

     “Hey….” Danio felt extremely out of his depth. He wasn’t really sure what he should be doing in the current situation. Comforting people really wasn’t one of his strong points. Need someone to hustle a troublesome bookie, he was your man. Need someone to disappear, Danio could do the job for you, and for a competitive price, too. A doe-eyed, nineteen year old, skinny kid almost about to burst into tears because he was in jail for something he didn’t do? Danio’s brain was honestly coming up blank on that one.

     “Hey. Ki—Enzo.” Danio reached out awkwardly and patted his new cellmate on the shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. Danio didn’t hang around people that needed comforting. All his mates—because true ‘friends’ rarely exist in prison unless you’re from the same Family—were hard men who would probably rather punch a brick wall repeatedly in a stupid, supposedly masculine demonstration of strength than accept anything more than a consolatory slap on the back. He himself found the thought of his mates hugging him outside of a greeting almost repellent.

     It seemed to do more harm than good, however, because Enzo let out a choked-back sob and Danio saw fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. He withdrew his hand quickly and sat there feeling slightly guilty and waited for Enzo to cry himself out.

     Enzo was denied that opportunity, though—and Danio secretly was quite glad for that—when the dinner bell blared and the sounds of other inmates leaving their cells began rumbling through the block. Before they could go to dinner, though, Danio had some things to run over with Enzo.

     “Enzo. Enzo. Listen to me, kid. C’mon,” he said, forcibly turning the boy to face him. “Ah, Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Clean up your face.” Danio got up and snagged his last clean washcloth from the small cupboard that was afforded to him for his personals and thrust it at the distraught kid. Enzo’s pale face was flushed red and his eyes were swollen from crying. Instead of making him ugly, though, it made him look even more vulnerable than before and that could not be happening just before dinner hour. Not when they would be dining among murderers, thieves, and worse.

     “Here, and there,” Danio said, gesturing towards spots on Enzo’s face. Enzo obediently dabbed at his face and attempted to stem his tears. He took the washcloth back and ran it under the tap. “Here, get the swellin' down,” he said, pressing the cold cloth underneath Enzo’s eyes to show him what he meant before letting the boy hold it. “Look, we got some things to go over before we go to dinner. You listenin’?”

     Enzo nodded.

     “Right. One. You’re under me protection now, ain’t you the lucky one?” Danio said, putting some cheer into his voice. “Most newbies would _kill_ to have that. Literally. So basically, anybody touches you or comes near you lookin’ like trouble, you run like hell. Maybe you can fight, maybe you can’t, I don’t know, but I don’t want you fuckin’ with people and gettin’ hurt, y’hear? Just find either me or one of me boys. I’ll point ‘em out to you later. Fuckin’ ugly bastards, you’d never miss ‘em.” Danio chuckled.

     “Two. For God’s sake, try to not look so frightened. Don’t cause trouble, but don’t look so…weak. Most of the blokes in this block are mine, but there are some in another faction who’d just love to snap a sweet little thing like you up. Don’t look at me like that. In fact, try not to look like that at all. You should have figured that one out already. Just do what I said before.”

     “Three. Stay close as fuck to me when we go out. Until it’s established that you’re one of mine, you’re basically seen as free game. Understand?”

     Enzo nodded rapidly. “Got it,” he whispered.

     “I’ll show you how to make a shiv later,” Danio said practically, getting up and stretching. Enzo got up, too. Danio absolutely towered over him. The thought of Enzo actually using the shiv was amusing, he thought, watching as Enzo slung his bag up onto the top bunk, though it could actually be a scary thing to see the kid angry. Enzo had already surprised him by willingly taking the rap for Luca.

     “Let’s go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this first chapter! This is going to be a work in progress and a relatively gradual development of character, but in the meantime... are you ready to go to dinner with the crew?


	2. Fine Dining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't nothin' makes good food tastes better than good company.

     When Enzo had been brought in to the cell that he and Danio now shared, he had had no idea what to expect from prison beyond the rough description Pellio had given him. Luca had refused to say anything that he thought might frighten Enzo, though by refusing to do so, he had unintentionally frightened him even more.

     It had been a relief when he found out from the guard—Gregson, was it?—that he had been assigned Danio Giovanetti as his cellmate. One of the few things his boss had stressed to him before he had been bundled off into the prison bus was to “find Danio Giovanetti and stick to him like a fuckin’ limpet.” His first impression of Danio had been terrifying, though.

     Pellio had shown him a photo of Giovanetti so he’d at least know who to look for, but the photo must have been old, because the rather averagely sized, frowning man in the photo was now huge. Bulging muscles rippled with every movement even beneath the regulation issued grey shirt and trousers. He had pushed-back black hair and brown eyes in a face that Enzo might have called friendly and even good-looking, except for the fact that his first introduction to his cellmate consisted of the guard admonishing Giovanetti for fucking up his former cellmate so bad, he had to be in hospital for several weeks.

     Giovanetti was suddenly terrifying, and someone Enzo had no desire to take a step closer to. And he had _winked_ at him. Enzo’s mind was immediately filled with the stories some of the boys had managed to gleefully whisper in his ear before Luca appeared behind him, silently threatening pain and death. If it hadn’t been for Pellio’s orders echoing around in his head, he just might have begged the guard to take him to another cell.  
            It had taken every bit of his willpower to come and sit next to Danio when he had been told. Danio had been patient, though, and even nice in that rough way Enzo had become accustomed to among the Family. He wanted to curl up in embarrassment, though, at already crying in front of Giovanetti. He had already succeeded in making himself look like even more of a bitch. Because despite his fragile looks—and Enzo knew how he came off to people—he had more fire than people initially gave him credit for. He was just unsettled right now.

     And right now, he was walking closer to his new cellmate than a fucking shadow, because as soon as they had left the relative privacy of the cell, Danio and Enzo—well, Enzo only, really—were immediately the targets of catcalls and whistles.

     “Oi, Giovanetti, got yourself a new toy, then?”

     “Hey, cutie, come visit uncle soon! He’ll show you a right good time!”

     Each jeering invitation ratcheted up the terror in Enzo until he was positively vibrating with it. Danio must have noticed, because he casually slid a possessive arm around Enzo.

      “Ignore 'em and don’t look at 'em, kid,” he hissed in his ear, bending down to do so. When he straightened up, Enzo looked up quickly to see him staring death at the other prisoners, daring them to say something more.

     A shout jerked his attention back to the front. An olive-skinned man with a gold crucifix around his neck, thick black hair, and whose muscles bulged even more so than Danio’s was swaggering towards them, the biggest grin Enzo had ever seen plastered over his face.

     “Johnny, you bastard. Did they just let you out the Hole?” Danio grinned, slipping his arm from around Enzo. He and Johnny slapped hands and pulled each other in close in greeting. As soon as he drew back from Johnny, Enzo was right back under his arm.

     “Yeah, mate. To be honest, it was like a fuckin’ holiday not havin’ ta see all youse ugly mugs,” Johnny grinned. Danio snorted and punched him in the arm hard enough to make him scowl and rub the spot afterwards.

     “Like you should be talkin’, mate. Good thing they don’t have a mirror in the Hole, Johnny boy, or that might be considered ‘cruel and unusual punishment’,” Danio said, mimicking a posh voice presumably belonging to a justice official.

     Johnny flipped up both of his middle fingers at Danio. “Who’s pretty boy, then?” he said curiously, leering at Enzo. He was rubbing his arm as if it still hurt.

     Enzo flinched, drawing back reflexively. Danio noticed and ruffled his hair reassuringly. “Don’t even think ‘bout it, Johnny boy, unless you want your balls presented to you in a little baggie. This here’s Enzo. He’s one of Pellio’s, so he’s one of mine.”

     “Fuckin’ see what happens if you do. I’ll _try_ to leave you some of your dick to piss from. No guarantees, though,” Johnny replied without any real venom, bending down a little to get a better look at Enzo, who shrank away with wide eyes. “Hey, don’t be like that,” Johnny wheedled, as if talking to a skittish puppy. “I’m Johnny de Lucci. You can call me Johnny. Looks like I’ll be watchin’ out for your scrawny arse from now on, yeah?” He stuck a hand out that Enzo shook after a moment’s hesitation.

     “Hi,” Enzo rasped, his voice scratchy with nervousness.

     “Oh, _Christ_ , youse quiet as you look,” Johnny groaned. “I’m gon’ have a hell of a time lookin’ after you like that. The fuck you doin’ in the cage anyways? You look like you’d apologise for even _thinkin_ ’ ‘bout pinchin’ a candy bar.”

     “He’s in here for killin’ a man,” Danio deadpanned.

     Johnny stared at Danio, then Enzo, for a moment before barking out a laugh. “Right. And I’m a wee tailor specialisin’ in little girl dresses.”

      “He’s also with Luca ‘The Artist’,” Danio added calmly. If he hadn’t been so jumpy at the moment, literally jerking underneath Danio’s arm at every outstanding sound, Enzo would have found it amusing to see Johnny’s laughter die in his throat for him to look at Enzo with new respect in his eyes.

     “Oh?” Johnny said interestedly. “Well, then. I do always say, ‘watch out for them quiet fuckers’.”

     “No, you don’t, but forget it,” Danio said, punching Johnny again for being a cock. “Start gettin’ the word out that Enzo’s one of mine, yeah? I want every bloody bastard in this block to know that by the end of dinner hour.”

     “Yours….?” Johnny trailed off, heavy eyebrows raised.

     “Just mine. Let them interpret that how they want,” Danio said dismissively, squeezing Enzo’s shoulder in warning when the boy looked up at him with a disconcerted expression. Bitch, lover, toy, ward; some terms more favourable to Enzo than others perhaps, but all implied protected and very off-limits. “Just make it fuckin’ clear that anybody touches Enzo, they got me to deal with.”

     “Right-o.” Johnny gave Danio a mock salute and sauntered off to join up with a group of men hanging by the stairwell to the second level of the block who were waiting for the initial dinner rush to die down. They seemed happy to see him back, greeting him with slaps on the back and pressing cigarettes on him.

     As Danio and Enzo passed them, Johnny jerked his chin towards Enzo, his expression turning serious. Giving Enzo a wink, he said something to the men that had them all growing sober and nodding. Several metres away, Danio somehow managed to make eye contact with each and every one in the group and got visual confirmation that they all understood how things were going to go down. A few of the friendlier ones, now smiling, waved at Enzo, who smiled uncertainly back. The group was all Danio’s boys, so it was easy with them, but Danio knew that the men he still hadn’t won over in the block would be harder to keep away from Enzo.

     Danio met with a few more of his men on their way into the canteen and the encounters went more or less the same. By the time they actually made it into the queue (they got to cut in front quite a lot because of Danio’s status), Enzo’s head was reeling from the introductions.

     There was Henri ‘The Pianist' Richter, a German who was serving time for strangling two men who owed him a great deal of money with piano wire. Tony diRicci, in for participating in a drive-by shooting that had unfortunately killed two innocent bystanders. He was really torn up about that, Danio had whispered to Enzo as they met another of Danio’s mates, a man simply called Big Eli. A giant of a man standing at a little over two metres and with the breadth of a tank, Big Eli was actually a quiet man who preferred to keep to himself and only answered to Danio because the Italian was the only man who never made a freak out of him. He had instantly taken to Enzo and Danio had had a hard time of it trying to convince Eli that at the moment, he was more valuable checking in with the guard they had bribed than following them. Then there was Ashley Fletcher, bank robber and general con artist. The list went on and on, until Enzo was hard-pressed trying to remember the names of men introduced to him seconds before.

     It was almost with relief that Danio finally announced that they had “basically met everybody” and chivvied Enzo into the queue. Danio had dropped his hand from Enzo’s shoulder to turn and talk to a mate that passed by. Enzo took the time to look around the canteen.

     Roughly twenty rows of eight picnic table-style metal benches each stretched across the room. Men, all wearing the prison uniform of blue-grey shirts and pants cut of the same material, were eating their dinner or milling about. Some were actually talking and even laughing, but there were more than a few who Enzo’s sharp eye caught palming contraband. It was always under the pretence of a handshake or passing something more innocent, like a milk carton.

     Danio was quietly negotiating a trade for some actual whiskey one of the shadier guards was pushing through some of the prisoners when he heard Enzo yelp and felt him jerk away violently. He whipped around to see a man he recognised as having just joined his crew with his hand outstretched as if he’d just copped a feel of Enzo’s arse, which, judging by Enzo’s reaction and the flaming red colour of his face, was exactly what had happened.

     Without bothering to give a word of warning, Danio slammed his fist into the man’s face. Hard. The force of the blow knocked the man to the ground. Enzo yelped again, this time in surprise at the suddenness of the blow. Danio ignored him, though he did step in to place himself between his new charge and the offender.

     “Fuckin’ hell, Gio, the fuck was that for?” the man yelled, holding a hand under his bleeding nose. It seemed more crooked than before Danio slugged him, so it was probably broken. Seeing some of the guards looking over and talking to each other, Danio made a sympathetic expression and bent down to help the man up.

     “Say one word, _bitch_ , and I’ll drop you and make sure every bloke in this block knows you’re ‘open’,” Danio hissed in his ear as he practically made a Broadway show of standing the man up and brushing him off. “Enzo’s mine. Keep your fuckin’ paws off, y’hear?”

     The man paled beneath the blood on his face and nodded gingerly. A stern-faced guard pushed his way over, a hand ready on his nightstick.

     “Alright, gentlemen, what’s going on here?” he said gruffly. “Having a bit o’ trouble in paradise, are we? Giovanetti, what happened to Donovan here?”

     “No trouble, sir. Old Donny here’s just a bit clumsy, and he slipped on some food somebody dropped, sir,” Danio said smoothly. He put a chummy arm around Donny, his forearm pressing against the injured man’s neck a little harder than necessary, the silent threat clear. “Banged his nose pretty bad on the floor here, he might need the hospital wing, sir.”

     The guard looked at Danio suspiciously, who looked back at him with an appropriate mixture of innocence and indignation at being a suspect. “Is this true, Donovan?” the guard finally said, tearing his gaze away to look at the injured inmate. Donovan nodded slowly, his hand still cupped under his dripping, misshapen nose.

     “Yes, sir. It’s me own fault, sir.”

     The guard still didn’t look completely convinced, his gaze lingering on Danio’s innocent expression and the redness of Enzo’s face, but he took Donovan by the arm anyways. “Alright. C’mon, then, we’ll take you to the hospital wing and set your nose.”

     Danio watched the guard lead Donovan away for a bit before he remembered Enzo and quickly turned to see Johnny, good mate he was, casually standing just behind Enzo like some heretical guardian angel. Catching his eye, Johnny waggled his eyebrows mischievously at Danio and grinned easily. Other inmates were watching with mostly curious expressions. Those whose grins were more lecherous quickly went back to their own business after Danio glared murderously at them and Johnny added his own shark’s smile. In front of him, Enzo was still bright red and his shakes were practically on the level of advanced Parkinson’s.

     “You’re fine, kid, it was just a feel-up, nothin’ more,” Danio grunted, patting him roughly on the shoulder. There was no way he’d survive jail if a bit of a feel-up upset him so much. Though, to be fair, anybody who had any thoughts of molesting Enzo had just gotten an eyeful of a demonstration of what would happen to them if they did.

     “I-I know,” Enzo stuttered. His stance had relaxed slightly but he still looked wary.

     “Ease up, boss,” Johnny drawled. “Kid just had his first fright. Least he and everybody within sight knows what’ll happen if anybody touches him.” The last part was said much louder to ensure everyone around them heard it again. He patted Enzo on the head, who surprised Danio by not flinching away and instead looking up and smiling weakly at Johnny. Then again, Johnny could be damn charming when he wanted to be. However, Enzo Lucelli was _his_ ward and responsibility, and as much as he liked and trusted Johnny, he was damned if he was going to risk the vengeance that was sure to come from Luca Arrigoni, Montie Pellio, and as a result, his own boss, if he fucked up. Especially Luca. With that in mind, Danio silently motioned to Enzo, who trotted forward obediently to what was fast becoming _his_ place by Danio’s side. Settling into line behind them, Johnny winked suggestively at Danio, making a crude gesture with his hands. Glancing down to make sure Enzo hadn’t seen—he hadn’t—Danio mouthed “You fuckin’ serious, mate?” at Johnny and flipped him off. He didn’t let Enzo turn around when he went to see what Johnny was snickering about.

     It was soon their turn at the counter. The cook, a woman that came in daily to oversee the preparation of the prisoners’ meals, was watching the inmates who were on dinner detail like a hawk. She was a tough old bird with bright silver hair, leathery skin, and an age-blurred tattoo of her late husband’s name above her heart, visible because she left the top four buttons on her uniform blouse unbuttoned, leaving barely enough closed material to strain over her more than ample and not at all desirable bosom. Get on her good side with a ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ and she was inclined to slip extras to you. Favourites got to call her ‘Nana’. Fall on her bad side with rude manners and suffer an adjusted portion with more vegetables, less meat, and no dessert. She was old, but damn if her memory was sharper than any university student’s. She remembered every prisoner’s food dislikes and every slight slanted at her.

     “’Evenin’, Nana,” Danio said cheerfully. “What’re we eatin’ tonight?”

     Nana’s eyes brightened and she beamed at Danio. “Danny, love!”

     She insisted on calling him Danny, and really, only she could call him that. Not even his own mother ever called him ‘Danny’. “Me and the lovely boys here made a chicken pot stew. There’s mash and green beans to go wit’ it. Dessert’s an apple pan cake.”

     “Sounds great, Nana,” Danio said sincerely. “We got a new one with us,” he said, pushing Enzo forward. “This is Enzo. Enzo, say hello to Nana.”

     “Hello, ma’am. How do you do,” Enzo said, smiling shyly.

     Nana cackled and clapped her hands. “Oh, ain’t you just precious! Do you like apple cake, darlin’?” she said conversationally as she personally put his food together on a tray.

     Enzo nodded.

     “Have an extra piece,” Nana whispered conspiratorially, hiding the second piece under a napkin.

     Enzo flushed, pleased, and he accepted the tray gratefully with both hands. “Thank you, ma’am.”

     Nana waved the thanks away. “Darlin’, you can call me ‘Nana’. Don’t you leave one bite on that plate now, y’hear? You’re too small as it is already,” she said sternly.

     “Yes, Nana,” Enzo smiled.

     Nana smiled at him before snapping around to glare at Danio. “Danny,” Nana barked. She banged the empty tray in her hand on the metal counter for emphasis. Danio and some other men standing close behind winced at the clatter. “Yes, Nana?”

     “You look out for this sweet darlin’, understand?” Nana ordered, slapping mash onto the tray. She ladled the chicken stew over it and put the green beans on top. She knew Danio hated vegetable sides but she was a strong believer in a balanced meal, so she still put a little on anyways. “Don’t you _dare_ let him come to any harm or you’ll be eatin’ just vegetables for the rest of your time here, y’hear?”

     Grimacing at the thought, Danio nodded and took the brandished tray from the old woman. “Got it, Nana, shit. I was gon’ do so anyways.”

     “Good. Now get away from my counter. NEXT!” she bellowed. “Oh, hello, Johnny, dear!”

     Danio motioned with his chin for Enzo to walk ahead and followed him closely. “Let’s find a table ‘fore she bites me head off,” he whispered. Enzo giggled, making Danio grin a bit. “Go down that row, we’ll sit at that table over by the wall underneath the high window.”

     Danio’s table was already occupied by a few of his boys. They look up and upon seeing Danio, immediately scooted down to make generous room.

     “’Evening, Gio,” “Alright, boss?”, “’sup, Gio?” they greeted him. They looked curiously at Enzo but either they’d already heard the word or they were smart and didn’t think it’d be wise to descend on the new boy who was clearly with Danio.

     “Sit,” Danio said, gesturing to the seat next to the one he was about to take. Enzo slid onto the bench and ended up next to a skinny but clever looking fellow with a pleasant enough face underneath a neat crop of black hair.

     “Hiya, kid.”

     “That string bean’s Fredo,” Danio said by ways of introduction. “He’s a good guy, though he’ll just as soon pick your pocket as say hello to your mother.”

     “Some people call me ‘Sticky Fingers’,” Fredo grinned, sticking his hand out for Enzo to shake. His hands were slim, with elegantly tapered fingers, and soft, though there were some scratches and rough patches from work details around the correctional facility. “Need anything, lemme know and nine time outta ten, I can probably get it for ya. Special discount for new customers,” he winked.

     Despite his apprehensions, Enzo found himself smiling at the cheerfully clever demeanour. “I’m Enzo Lucelli.”

     “Nice ta meet ya, ‘m sure,” Fredo nodded. Glancing behind him, he leaned back a little to let the two men seated next to him into view.

     “That’s Tommy,” Fredo said, jerking a thumb at the man closest to him, “And that’s Vinny,” he said, pointing to the other. Both men had features too similar to be anything but identical—straight noses, mouths already quirking up in smiles, and smile lines that belied the hard edge in their eyes—and the only difference indicator Enzo could see at the moment was in the hair. Tommy seemed to prefer wearing his parted to the left, while Vinny’s was parted to the right.

     “Oi, alright, then?” Tommy and Vinny said in unison.

     “They’re twins,” Fredo said unnecessarily.

     “I could tell,” Enzo smiled. “Enzo,” he said, extending a hand to reach past Fredo. The twins each shook it.

     “Fredo already tryin’ ta corrupt ya, kid?” Vinny grinned.

     “Hey,” Fredo said, looking hurt. “I am a model citizen who has the misfortune of having fingers that happen ta stick ta things. It’s a serious affliction.”

     “Yeah, for the people ya nick from,” Tommy snorted.

     Fredo held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Can’t deny that. So,” he said, turning back to Danio and raising his eyebrows questioningly. Danio looked up from shoving food in his mouth. Elegant eater he was not.

     “Yeah?” he said after swallowing the mouthful.

     Fredo and the twins glanced at Enzo obviously, then looked back at Danio.

     “Oh, Enzo? He’s mine, under my protection,” Danio said simply. “I expect nobody to touch him. Got it?”

     “Yeah, boss,” everybody chorused.

     “Like the voices of fuckin’ angels,” Danio said sarcastically, going back to his food. “Enzo, eat up. Nana’s right, you too fuckin’ skinny, kid.”

     “’kay.” Enzo picked up his fork and hesitantly started on his first prison meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nana gives you an extra helping of dessert for continuing on this journey and whacks your enemies with her formidable dinner tray.


	3. First Night

     The food wasn’t bad, actually, and Enzo managed to finish everything on the tray, which was good because Nana was watching as the prisoners came back up to put their eaten trays in the bins for washing. She made a funny sight, a shockingly endowed little old lady cowing hardened criminals for not finishing their suppers. She scolded the ones who hadn’t finished their dinner and smiled at the ones who did. Seeing Enzo’s empty tray, Nana nodded approvingly. “Good lad,” she said. “Gon’ get some meat on you.” Her sharp eyes didn’t miss the two green beans tucked under a crumpled napkin and she barked, “Danio Giovanetti, don’t you think for a bloody _second_ I don’t see that there!” She berated him for a good minute over the wasted vegetables before finally letting him go, his face sullen at his scolding. Somehow, Enzo managed to keep the smile from his face.

     The prisoners had a couple hours to themselves after dinner during which they could shower, chat, or use the recreation hall before lockup. Johnny and Danio gave Enzo a quick tour around the facilities and showed him where everything, from the showers to the laundry room to the chapel to the currently locked door for the exercise yard, was.

     “Normally I’d say this is your chance to remember everything, but you’re not goin’ anywhere without one of us so use that brain space for something else,” Danio said when they’d finished the tour and were sat at a table in the rec hall. Next to them, Tommy and Vinny were deeply interested in a game of chess that had apparently, according to Johnny, “had been goin’ on for fuckin’ forever” and according to Fredo, “had been goin’ on for three days”.

     Enzo had been receiving curious looks all evening and more than his fair share of catcalls, but as the night wore on and the word spread that the new boy was off-limits and belonged solely to Giovanetti, the jeers tapered off. Many came to slap Danio on the back and drop filthy innuendoes about what a sweet little piece of arse he had snagged himself, much to Enzo’s embarrassment. He surprised Danio for the second time that night, however, when finally, having heard enough, he jumped up and punched the man who had been insinuating that Enzo would make a “fuckin’ sweet prozzie”. The man was shorter than Danio by far and Enzo was able to hit him square in the jaw. He had had the benefit of surprise on his side and managed to push the heavier man sideways several feet. Unfortunately, he ended up being thrown into Tommy, who, as a result, knocked over the chess pieces of his and his twin’s game. While Johnny doubled over laughing at the look of shock on the man’s face, now red with humiliation and anger, Tommy and Vinny jumped up, furious.

     “Ya fuckin’ knobhead, fuckin’ knock yer skull in for that!” Vinny snarled, grabbing the man by the front of his jumpsuit and slamming his fist into the side of his face. Enzo tried to lunge at him again, only for Danio to hold him back.

     Several over prisoners who had seen what had happened joined in the melee with insults and jeers. “Oi, mate, you got proper served, innit?”

     “Oi, didn’t yer mum tell ye not ta mess wit’ the workin’ lads? Get ye proper messed up they will.”

     Danio didn’t join in on the laughter, but he did pat Enzo approvingly on the back as he pushed him back down on the bench. He gestured for the twins to calm down as well. Still simmering, they shoved the man away and sat down, glaring murder.

     “You must be thicker than pigshit if you didn’t understand the message, mate. Me boy Enzo’s off-limits. Go see Bashkim if you want a hole to fuck. Least his don’t bite back.”

     With that, Danio turned away dismissively. Johnny gave the man a rough shove away from them. “Move on, mate. You heard boss.”

     While Fredo, who had remained serenely unruffled throughout the chaos, got out a deck of dog-eared cards and began shuffling them before dealing them out to Danio, Johnny, Enzo, and himself, Danio said casually, “Johnny or me’ll take you to equipment in the yard some time and show you how to throw a proper punch. You got a good arm.”

     Johnny started laughing again. “Fuckin’ hell, did you see his fuckin’ face? Fuckin’ priceless, kid.” Enzo’s face darkened.

     “I’ll fuckin’ pulp his fuckin’ face the next time,” he snarled. “The fuck you hold me back for?” he snapped at Danio, turning on him. Next to him, the twins turned to look in horror at the boy. Nobody spoke to Danio Giovanetti like that. The last man who had disrespected Giovanetti to his face had ended up in hospital nearly dead with multiple stab wounds in his stomach. Nobody had been able to prove he had done it, though.

     Unbothered by Enzo’s blunt rudeness, Danio said calmly, “One, speak to me like that again and I don’t care if Montie Pellio himself asked me to protect you, I will beat your fuckin’ arse. Two, if I’d let you jump back in, I’d be takin’ your scrawny arse to hospital right now. So you’re welcome.”

     Through his anger, Enzo reluctantly realised that Danio was right. He was perhaps a little taller than the other inmate, but the other inmate had had a good two stone on him and more experience. “I’m sorry, Danio,” he said quietly, looking down, the anger retreating from his face.

     “S’alright, kid. Some things you just gotta learn, innit,” the older inmate said easily, slapping him on the back. “Lemme hear what I hammered into you ‘fore dinner.”

     “One, I’m under your protection,” Enzo began obediently. “Two, stay close to you. Three, don’t look scared.”

     “You got number two wrong,” Danio said. “It was ‘stay close as _fuck_ to me’. Or one of the boys if I’m not there. You’re just gon’ have to work on your not-scared face.”

     “Right….” Enzo trailed off. Danio sighed and rubbed his face. Fuckin’ hell. Since when was he running a baby-sitting service?

     “Enzo, you know how to play poker?” Fredo, ever a peace-maker, interjected smoothly. He waved his own dealt hand.

     The boy nodded. “Luca taught me.”

     Fredo paused in his arranging of his cards and the twins looked up from the new game they were setting up.

     “Luca? Like Luca The Artist?” Fredo said slowly, looking at the boy over his cards. The twins looked simultaneously at Enzo.

     Johnny spoke up for him, looking absurdly amused as if _he_ were the one who was mates with the notorious hard man. “Yeah. Like Luca The fuckin’ Artist. Proper mental, innit?”

     “Christ.” Tommy and Vinny looked at Enzo with a newfound respect. Fredo just nodded, suitably impressed behind his calm façade, and picked up his cards again.

     “Then you must be good at poker if Luca was the one a’taught you.”

           

     Enzo was absolute shit at it. They were gambling with dessert, a few quid, and work detail shifts. In twenty minutes, the boy had lost six days’ worth of dessert, five quid, and had to take Fredo’s work detail shift on Tuesday. The pickpocket was ecstatic over that one and smugly scrawled out a reminder on a scrap of paper that he pushed over to the boy.

     “Fuckin’ hell, kid, you sure you know how to play?” Johnny said disbelievingly as Fredo dealt out the cards again. A man more interested in knocking heads than in more intellectual pursuits, Johnny didn’t have the attention span for the game and had good-naturedly lost a couple quid to Fredo. His losses were nothing to Enzo’s, though.

     “Luca only just started teachin' me,” Enzo muttered, looking glumly at his cards. Tommy had abandoned the chess game in favour of peering over Enzo’s shoulder to watch the game. Vinny was watching over Fredo’s shoulder and kept getting swatted away for getting too close. It was definitely a low stakes game by any standards, but dessert and money were precious commodities in prison, along with cigarettes and booze. Both Danio and Fredo were flying high, Danio six quid and three desserts richer and Fredo two quid, four desserts, and one less work detail ahead.

     A guard stuck his head in. “Thirty minutes till lockup, gents! That includes showers!” he shouted over the low rumble.

     Stretching, Johnny tossed down his cards. “I had a shit hand anyways,” he yawned. Enzo laid down his cards as well, as did Fredo.

     Danio raised an eyebrow at the displayed hands. “Really? Well, looks like I win. Four of a kind, innit,” he said smugly, slapping his hand down in the centre of the table. Groaning, Fredo, who had unwisely bet all his winnings in hopes of doubling, shoved his briefly owned gains over to Danio, who gave a shark’s grin and pocketed the money.

     “Thanks, darlin’. Better luck next time, yeah?”

     Fredo threw him the two-finger salute, sour-faced. In a good mood, Danio only smacked his head as he got up. “Fuckin’ hell, mate. A pickpocket who can’t play cards.”

     “Pickin’ pockets ain’t the same as gamblin’, innit,” Fredo grumbled.

     Smirking, Danio beckoned to his boy. “C’mon, Enzo. Let’s hit the showers before it gets crowded.”

•••

     Only moderately busy with a handful of inmates washing up before lockup for the night, the showers were mostly empty, to Enzo’s palpable relief. Short privacy walls that came up about stomach high mercifully separated the wall of showerheads into tiny stalls, but there was a noticeable absence of shower curtains. Clutching his regulation issue towel around his thin waist and small mesh bag containing a bar of soap and a small bottle of shampoo, Enzo was wordlessly directed to a stall closer to the end. Johnny took up the one on his right and Danio the one on his left. Steeling himself but still feeling incredibly vulnerable at the prospect of being publicly naked, Enzo reluctantly hung his towel on the solitary hook provided and turned on the water.

     The first spray that hit him was ice cold and he yelped, jerking back from the freezing water. A thick arm reached over and adjusted the handle for him.

     “Give it a sec,” Johnny said, a chuckle in his voice. “It don’t get much warmer, though.” He himself didn’t seem at all bothered by the chill and was busy soaping his hair.

     After a moment, the water warmed up a few degrees—or Enzo was suitably numbed that it no longer felt like ice—and he dared to duck back under the water. He made quick business of washing his hair and running the soap bar over his body. Next to him, Danio had already finished and was casually standing outside next to his stall in just his towel, waiting. A couple men tried to approach him, most likely wanting to ask about some business matter, or maybe trying to catch an eyeful of the new kid’s arse, but he waved them off. His eyes hardened on the ones who were a bit more obvious in their intentions and he noted their faces.

     Enzo and Johnny finished at the same time, Johnny being slightly more fastidious about his personal hygiene than Danio. While Danio threw what seemed to be the usual snide remarks about Johnny’s attention to his cleanliness, Enzo quickly towelled his hair off before wrapping the towel around his waist again. Following the other two men to the lockers where they had left their clean changes of uniform, he couldn’t help but notice the latent power Danio and Johnny walked with and suddenly felt incredibly low in the pecking order. Above their towels, the two taller men rippled with every movement, their massive muscles sliding predatorily beneath the skin. Johnny had a black ink tattoo of the Santa Maria crushing the head of a snake covering the whole of his back that shifted with each swaggering step. Their sheer bulk seemed to part the men before them, with Enzo riding the coattails of their power. For the first time that day, Enzo realised just how lucky he was that Danio was the one looking out for him.

     In the locker area, most of the eyes around them were discreetly averted as they tugged on shirts and trousers. There were still a few predatory eyes that Enzo felt on him and he tried not to shrink into himself and give himself away. On his part, Enzo’s eyes darted here and there nervously underneath the fall of his hair. He had never felt so small in his life. Though he was far from being the shortest inmate, all the other men had at least fifty pounds of muscle on him and several years. He’d always been a skinny kid and even after he had become a part of Montie Pellio’s Family and had the wives and mothers of the men practically pushing platters of pasta and sweets down his throat, he’d still remained as skinny as ever. Montie had said to appreciate it while it lasted, that later on in life, he’d wish he still had that crazy metabolism. At that moment, Enzo wasn’t so sure he did.

     Danio hung back a bit to talk with some of the other inmates. Before Enzo’s gut could churn at the prospect of being stuck waiting for him among so many inmates in various states of undress, Johnny gestured for him to follow.

     “Thought you’d ‘preciate gettin’ outta there,” he said cheerfully once they were outside. “Fuckin’ sausage fest in there, innit.”

     “Thanks, Johnny,” Enzo said softly. He liked Johnny. With all his rough edges and self-professed tendency to hit first and ask questions later, the man was perceptive and reminded him of some of Pellio’s boys back home with their gruffly voiced politeness and sympathies.

     “You’re Danio’s boy now, innit?” was all Johnny said. His cell was further down the block from the one Danio and Enzo now shared. He had a double with a man named Capelli, or Cap for short.

     “Cap’s a nice bloke, you should meet ‘im,” Johnny said conversationally as they walked. He nodded at a passing mate. “Geezer talks about paintin’ and goin’ back to _Italia_ all the time,” Johnny imitated the old country accent. “He’s a proper artist, though. Used to be an art forger ‘fore he got nipped. Snores loud enough to wake the angels, though, fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, making Enzo smile.

     They reached Enzo and Danio’s cell. Big Eli was leaning on the doorframe outside.

     “Alright, big guy?” Johnny said cheerfully. “You can go on now, I’ll take over till boss gets back.”

     Nodding, Big Eli pushed himself off the wall. He looked at Enzo, who smiled up at him reflexively. A grin cracked his craggy mug and he left without another word.

     “He likes you,” Johnny observed, following Enzo into the cell. “He’s a decent sort. Could take on just ‘bout any bloke on this block. Just a bit slow.” Enzo climbed up onto his bunk and Johnny sat down on the little stool Danio had next to the small shelf in the wall.

     “Seems like the bigger they are, the slower they get, innit,” Johnny mused.

     “Better get not much bigger, then, huh,” Enzo said before he could stop himself. He froze as soon as the words left his mouth and he saw the older inmate narrow his eyes at him.

     He raised his hands. “Johnny, I—”

     The sudden burst of laughter startled him and he stared, confused, as Johnny threw himself back against the wall laughing. “Fuckin’ hell, kid, I like you. You’re funny.”

     “Who’s funny?’ Danio said, back. He sat down heavily on his bunk, his eyes flicking automatically over the cell by habit to see if anything was even the slightest bit out of place. Nothing.

     “Your boy here’s got a smart mouth on ‘im,” Johnny nodded at Enzo, winding down and wiping his eyes.

     “Oh?” Danio leaned out of his bunk to look up at Enzo above him. “If he can back it up, good.” He turned to Johnny, lowering his voice a little. “Morrison says one of the straight guards got wind of their buddy pushing the whiskey, so that deal’s off. He says he also knows somebody whose batch of pruno’s ‘bout ready. I don’t trust that bloke or his shit, though, geezer’s fuckin’ dodgy, so make sure none of our lads buys off ‘im. Got it?”

     “Ye-up,” Johnny popped the ‘P’ at the end. “Is it that Albanian bloke, Bashkim?”

     “Yeah.”

     Johnny whistled. He looked up at Enzo. “You stay away from Bashkim and his boys, hear? We all bad in here, but wit’im, he’s straight rotten. He runs prozzie rings in here and outside, and you’re just ‘is type. Sorry, mate,” he said, seeing how Enzo’s eyes widened. “Just warnin’ you. Drugs is fuckin’ community service next to what he does.”

     Much of Enzo just wanted to go home more than anything at this point, but a tiny part of him reared up in anger again—he was _not_ somebody’s bitch—and he snapped, “Lemme see him fuckin’ try. I’ll fuckin’ slit his throat first.”

     Danio and Johnny exchanged looks, one appraising and the other approving.

     “You’re taking Enzo out to the yard tomorrow,” Danio said finally. “Kid’s got a mouth on ‘im, he better be able to back it up.”

     Outside, the loudspeaker crackled. “Lights out in five, gents! Either you’re inside or you’re in solitary for the night!”

     Johnny stood up. “Looks like that’s my cue to go. See ya, boss. Enzo.” Saluting flippantly, Johnny sauntered out.

     A minute later, there was a loud clattering rumble as all the cell doors rolled shut electronically and locked, shutting everyone in for the night. A few lights remained on outside for security but the lights inside the cell were all shut off. Shortly afterwards, the sounds of crying and soft moaning started drifting in from all around, inmates sobbing themselves to sleep, fucking, or being fucked. Enzo trembled and curled up on his side and drew his pillow up over his ear to block out the sounds. The thin pillow was far from enough, though, and he still heard Danio moving beneath him and saying, “’night. Chin up, lad. First night’s always the hardest.”

     Enzo didn’t fall asleep for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enzo's got a bit of a temper, doesn't he. Wonder where he gets it from? Big Eli wants to crush you in his arms...with love, and Danio subtly slides his unwanted veggies onto your plate. 
> 
> We're meeting Montie Pellio and the infamous Luca The Artist next chapter~!


	4. Cat And Rat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeere's Luca! And the big boss. Have some pasta.

     “Boss, Luca’s ‘ere to see you.”

     A middle-aged man whose gut was beginning to show from too much pasta and late-night takeaway and whose vainly dyed black hair was thinning on top, Montie Pellio looked up from the ledgers he was checking. He sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. A quick glance at the gold clock piece sitting on the corner of his desk told him that it was just past nine that morning. Christ. He knew what Luca was here for, and what he was going to say. Pellio nodded reluctantly. It was too early for this shit.

     “Let ‘im in.”

     The man nodded and left, closing the door after himself.

     Less than ten seconds passed before that same door burst open again, letting in a stormy faced Luca. He had been thoroughly disarmed before entering the house but believing an unarmed Luca to be less dangerous than an armed one was stupid and might get you killed. A tall, broad-framed man who was all muscle and very little fat, Luca Arrigoni could reduce even the most alpha of males to stammering apologies with just his appearance and a single look. He had ice blue eyes, white blonde hair, and a jagged white scar that ran up his left cheek from when he was younger and had gotten glassed during a pub fight.

     There were only two types of people in the world to Luca; those he could kill and those he couldn’t kill just yet. This was common knowledge amongst the members of the Pellio Family, who treaded with the lightest of footsteps around Luca as a result. As simple as Luca’s mind made the world out to be, however, he was not without a streak of vanity, and to say that the pitter-patter of timid mouse feet around his wicked claws was not somewhat flattering would have been to tell a lie.

     Montie Pellio was more of a rat, though. A rat who lorded over the mice, but stepped oh so cautiously around the cat’s paws. Pellio may have held a trump card over the other Families in the shape of Luca Arrigoni, but he would have had to be a complete idiot to believe even for a second that if it weren’t for the strange moral code held by the otherwise utterly amoral hit man, Pellio would have fallen into the “can kill” category. He certainly pissed Luca off enough to warrant regular daytime fantasies about the many bloody ways Luca could kill the Mafia kingpin.

     Pellio wasn’t stupid. He knew this, and that was why he did his best not to stomp too hard on his kitty’s tail too often. Today, though, without even saying one word to the hit man, he seemed to have thoroughly pissed off the double-edged sword he owned. Considering the recent unfortunate decision of Enzo Lucelli to take the fall for Luca and the glittering edge of insanity in the murderer-for-hire’s eyes as he glared furiously at Pellio across his desk, the kingpin could guess what this was about.

     “Luca,” Pellio said respectfully. “What can I do for you?”

     “’Wot can you do fer me?’ I’ll tell you wot you can do. You can talk to that fuckin’ judge an’ get me boy Enzo out!” Luca snarled without preamble.

     “Luca,” Pellio held up a hand, attempting to placate his foaming mad dog. “There is a process for this sort of thing. If it ‘appens too quickly, the judge falls under suspicion an’ then we’ll ‘ave to groom an entirely new judge. Time, money; these things cost all of that.”

     “I swear to you,” he added quickly, seeing how Luca was seconds away from conveniently forgetting his code in favour of stabbing him in the throat with his own letter opener, “I will do all I can. I know I told you somethin’ like this a couple weeks ago, but you know I care ‘bout Enzo just as much as you do. The whole Family does an’ I am—”

     Luca slammed his fists down on Pellio’s desk. “That was fuckin’ _three weeks_ ago, Pellio. You don’t know _nothin’ ‘_ bout ‘ow I care ‘bout Enzo,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “You might hold me leash, Pellio, but don’t think fer a _second_ that I won’t turn on you.”

     There was one more type of person to Luca, people he would freely kill and even die to protect, and Enzo was currently the only occupant in that category. Luca’s mother was deceased; otherwise she would have been in there with Enzo. Pellio knew this and he had cleverly realised that Enzo was the second way he could control Luca. He had sworn to Luca that he would protect Enzo, give him only easy jobs, and give him a good living, all in exchange for Luca’s continued services. Letting Enzo have his way and take the fall for Luca had been like burning his safety parachute. Not for the first time since the trial, Pellio sincerely regretted letting Enzo bully him into letting him take the rap for the hit man. The details were hazy in his memory, though. If a gun had been held to his head, Pellio still wouldn’t have been able to say how it had happened. All he knew now, though, besides the realisation that “darlin’ little Enzo” could be absolutely brutal in his demands, was as of that moment, because of that decision, he was currently being considered as somebody Luca would happily kill to protect Enzo. Calling for his men would be useless; he’d be dead before they even moved to respond to the call.

     “I understand that, Luca.” Pellio’s tone was much calmer than he felt. “An’ I appreciate your continued service to me. All I’m askin’ is for you to understand that I’m doin’ me best an’ I will convince the judge to consider Enzo’s age and good behaviour an’ release ‘im early. ’e’s a good kid; we all miss ‘im, Luca.”

     Seconds ticked by like molasses as Luca glared Pellio down. To his credit, the Mafia kingpin didn’t flinch and stared back into the soulless abyss. If he wanted to experience one of his incredibly rare moments of empathy, Pellio could understand the upheaval Luca was struggling with. He well remembered the days before Luca had Enzo. The hit man had been prone to moments of absolutely incontrollable mercurial rage in which he killed without discretion and had cost Pellio hundreds of thousands of the Queen's currency in clean-up and bribes to keep things quiet. Threatening him had never worked because Luca had no family to speak of, no loved ones, and frankly didn’t care if he lived or died. He had been about as predictable as a frenzied druggie hopped up on PCP.

     Then Enzo had swept in unexpectedly and Luca had attached himself to the lad, with his rather odd personality combination of disarming sweetness and stubborn self-reliance, like a drowning man in a storm. The difference in the hit man from then on had nearly been night and day. If Pellio had been a religious man, he would have thanked his god for giving him another way to control the increasingly unpredictable Luca. Nothing dodgy, though, or immoral. Luca himself had practically handed him the second leash.

 

_Eight years ago_

_“Hi. Uhm, I’m Enzo Lucelli. Mr. Arrigoni told me to come see you if I needed work?”_

_At hearing Luca’s name, Montie Pellio raised an eyebrow at the skinny kid fidgeting in front of him and slowly sat back in his chair. One of the boys had shown the kid up to where Pellio was playing cards with some men he was friendly with. They were in a small room above a pub overlooking the streets of Hackney in East London. The other men were all either leaders of comparatively small-time gangs or smart loners who were able to get Pellio things he needed or wanted._

_Luca’s name had dropped like a flash bomb and a tense silence had blanketed the room. Cards were being set down and everybody was staring at the kid as if he was some freak of nature._

_“Arrigoni? Luca Arrigoni? ’e gave you me name?” Pellio said, trying to sound casual. His expression gave away his surprise, though._

_The kid nodded timidly, the sudden silence unnerving him. “He said you could give me a job. Me mum’s sick right now, so….” He trailed off and looked at the ground._

_Pellio glanced around at his mates. They all looked back at him with raised eyebrows and expressions of disbelief. He slowly put his own cards down on the table and looked back up at the kid, though not before silently communicating to his fellow players that he would stab the hand of anybody who tried to peek at his cards._

_"'ow’d you meet Luca, kiddo?”_

_Enzo shifted and twisted his hands together nervously. “He found me after some older kids knocked me ‘bout. He took me to some Italian joint, and then gave me his name and yours. Told me to either find him or come to you if I couldn’t get in touch.”_

_“An’ I assume you couldn’t get in touch wit’im, that’s why you’re here?” Pellio tapped one finger slowly, rhythmically on the table._

_Enzo nodded._

_Interesting, Pellio thought. His mad dog was now picking up lost puppies and bringing them home. He didn’t mind, really, as long as it didn’t affect his work. It could be another way to keep Luca in check, make sure he didn’t go rogue and turn on Pellio or anybody important to him. But what job could he give to the kid?_

_Pellio looked Enzo up and down again critically. When the kid had first mentioned Pellio giving him a job, the first thing that had come to mind was sending the kid to work for one of his gentlemen clubs. He was pretty enough, slender, and as far as he could see, demure. He was perfect for that, actually. Montie had clients who just loved Enzo’s type. His clubs were quality places, too, nothing dingy or dodgy about them. Pellio had a sharp suspicion that Luca wouldn’t like that at all, though, and would turn on him in a second and rip his throat out. What else could he give the kid? Perhaps…._

_“Loan collectin’.”_

_The kid started and blinked at Pellio. “Sorry?”_

_“Loan collectin’,” Pellio said patiently. “Goin’ ‘round places an’ makin’ sure they pay back the money they borrowed from me. Luca does that for me when 'e’s not doin’ other jobs,” killing people I want dead “so you could tag ‘long wit’im an’ be wit’ a familiar face.”_

_"R-really? I could do that?”_

_“Yeah. You’d be new, so you’d only be startin’ off at a two percent cut but hey, stick around an’ you’ll get raises 'ere an’ there.”_

_“No, that’s…that’s great. Really,” Enzo stammered. “Thank you, Mr. Pellio.”_

_Montie waved his hand. “You can jus’ call me ‘boss’. ‘Mr. Pellio’ is so fuckin’ stuffy. So I guess you’ll be takin’ the job, then?”_

_“Please,” Enzo nodded._

_“Right,” Pellio smiled briefly. What a polite kid. Quality manners. He pulled out his mobile from his pocket and sent off a quick SMS. He waved vaguely over his shoulder, still looking at the screen. “Someone get the kid a chair, he’s ‘angin’ ‘round for a bit till Luca comes.”_

     Luca’s fist slammed down on the desk. A stack of papers fell over onto the floor and scattered everywhere. “Get it done, then. An’ if I get a call from Enzo an’ he’s been hurt or somethin’ in there, after I’m done wit’em, I’m comin’ back fer you.” His cold glare promised Montie Pellio that Luca would go down with him if necessary. The man genuinely didn’t care if he lived or died.

     “Of course, Luca. I understand that,” Montie Pellio said smoothly, doing his best to keep the shiver of fear that ran through him from showing. “Now listen, I got a job for you….”

•••

     A potent mixture of rage and adrenaline was thrumming through Luca’s veins as he sat waiting in his car outside the flat of the man he was supposed to pay a visit to. The flat was in a rather shady part of Newcastle and had been a long four hour drive along the M1 during which Luca had entertained himself with the various ways he could kill Montie Pellio if he, God forbid, did get a call for help from Enzo. Lit petrol down the throat was one way he’d been itching to try. Bit messy that, though. Pellio’s men would catch up to him before he could finish, too, more’s the pity. He was alright with dying, really, just not before the job was done. No, shooting him was probably best. Or throwing him in the Thames hugging a concrete slab.

     He was genuinely worried about Enzo. Pellio had told him that he’d instructed Enzo to find Danio Giovanetti once inside but Luca was hardly comforted by that. For all of Pellio’s pretty words about how Giovanetti was the best, a boss in his own right in Grey Hill Correctional, the fact remained that Luca didn’t know the geezer, so this Giovanetti could be a prancing nancy for all he cared. Luca felt on edge constantly now, a feeling he didn’t like, because now there was something out of his control. Concerning Enzo.

     His fist tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white. His mind, consistently his own worst enemy, kept spinning and tormenting him with images of Enzo being hurt. The kid was skinny, and _pretty_ , a horrible combination for prison. Didn’t he keep telling the kid to eat more? And to toughen up his look? Well…he couldn’t deny that the kid ate. Fuckin’ hell, all the missuses had been shoving pasta in him as fast as they could. Yet the brat didn’t gain a single pound. How was that even possible? He hoped this Giovanetti really was all that Pellio cracked him up to be. His picture certainly hadn’t impressed Luca.

     He’d let Pellio bleed out slowly, Luca decided as he rapidly tapped out an SMS and sent it to let the boss know he’d arrived. Tie him to a bridge out over the water and slit his lying throat and the bottoms of his feet.

           

      _From: Luca_

_To: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_at cafe now, do u still want somethin_

_Sent: 9:12 pm_

 

     His mobile buzzed a minute later and a little envelope bounced up and down on the screen. Luca flicked open the message.

           

      _From: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_To: Luca_

_yeah. gimme a red eye._

_Received: 9:14 pm_

 

     Right. _Sorry mate_ , Luca thought, getting out of the car. _Ain’t nothin’ personal. S’jus’ business, innit._ Stretching and working the kinks and pops out of his muscles, he slung a black bag over his shoulder.

     Slipping on the affable, slightly lost face of a regular geezer who’d just forgotten his key upstairs, Luca was able to gain entry into the building thanks to an overly trusting young woman. He thanked her profusely and winked when he saw her blush.

     As soon as she exited the lift on her floor, the smile on Luca’s face dropped. _She’s not gon’ survive long 'round ‘ere like that_ , he thought, pushing the correct button for the floor he actually wanted. Pity. She was nice.

     Getting out on the seventh floor, Luca thought almost detachedly that this was a rather prime opportunity to let off some steam. He was able to quickly pick the lock on the man’s door and let himself in quietly. The man, some poor sod named William ‘Billy’ White, wasn’t due home for another half hour. He worked the afternoon shift at some factory and came home every night at ten. The adrenaline and fury still pulsing through his blood, Luca settled in a rather beaten up stuffed armchair to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my good golly gosh, thanks so much for reading this far! I've only just recently (as in...this week) started putting my writing [ramblings] out there, and it's surprisingly freeing, even if as an original work (and a beginner one at that) it doesn't garner as much interest as a fanfiction.
> 
> Keeping track of these regional accents is a task in itself.... figuring out the phonetics is another. Luca puts you on his "don't kill" list for reading this much up till now and feeds you pasta. It's going to be a bloodbath in a bit. S'jus' business, though, innit.


	5. Red Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A "red eye" is regular coffee combined with espresso. 
> 
> I think it'd be fair to just put it out there that there's Graphic Violence and a short but very Explicit F/M scene in this chapter. I'll have to change the tags... I suppose you could skip this chapter if neither of that sits well with you. In short; Luca goes mental and costs his boss a lot of money, and Montie Pellio gets laid. This is a dirty chapter. Really.

     Back in London, Montie Pellio was just tucking into a lovely rare steak. He had arranged to meet at Claridge’s with a young woman from an escort agency a mate of his had recommended. Stephanie, a lovely little thing with glossy brunette curls, gently curved lips, and size D breasts that just threatened to spill over the top of her still tasteful black dress, was surprisingly good company and was listening with what seemed to be genuine interest to one of his stories. However vain he was, though, he wasn’t thick enough to believe that she was interested in him beyond the cheque he was going to write her at the end of the night. She was just a bloody good actress as well as a fit piece of arse. He had told her he was a financier for an exclusive list of clients.

     He felt his mobile buzz in his pocket and excusing himself, he saw that he had an SMS from Luca.

           

_From: Luca_

_To: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_at cafe now, do u still want somethin_

_Sent: 9:12 pm_

 

     Billy White. The bastard owed him nearly five thousand quid and had made no move towards repaying him despite multiple reminders and warnings. Yes, he bloody well wanted something.

                       

_From: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_To: Luca_

_yeah. gimme a red eye._

_Received: 9:14 pm_

           

     Killing two birds with one stone. The job would give Luca something to take his anger out on and hopefully redirect his attention somewhere else for a little bit. Anything to get those crazed ice-chip eyes off of himself for a little bit. Seeing the message sent, Montie tucked his mobile back in his pocket and smiled apologetically at Stephanie.

     “Sorry, love. Now where was I?”

•••

     Luca heard the deadbolt grate as it was pushed back. Fuckin’ finally. It was half past eleven and he had begun to worry Billy White had passed out for the night at some pub on the way home or something. He only shifted slightly in his position behind the door, tightening his grip on the piano wire garrotte held in his two leather gloved hands. Billy White entered his dark flat, tired after a long day at the factory and indeed smelling of cheap lager. He shuffled forward a little to kick off his shoes and Luca launched forward, kicking the door shut at the same time.

     He threw the loop of piano wire around the man’s neck and yanked it tight instantly, twisting the handles cruelly. Billy, caught unexpectedly, struggled for the air to shout for help and twisted around like a mad thing trying to dislodge Luca. He only succeeded in making the piano wire cut deeper into his throat and he gurgled in agony. Blood dripped down sluggishly from the deepening cut in his neck from the wire digging its way into his flesh. If it had been light out and Luca was so interested as to look, he would’ve seen the blood beginning to bloom in haemorrhagic blossoms in Billy White’s eyes.

     Soon, Billy’s struggles started to lessen and his limbs slackened until he was slumped limply against Luca. The hit-man loosened the garrotte but the wire stayed embedded in the man’s bleeding neck. Tugging it free and putting it in his black bag, Luca then dragged the man to the wooden dining table in the kitchen. With a grunt, he threw the man down into the solitary chair at the table. He took a minute to stuff a wad of cloth into his mouth and tie a knot around the back of his head to keep it in. He went back to retrieve his bag and set it heavily on the table. Taking out a long knife and a small vial of ammonia, he waved the open bottle underneath the unfortunate man’s nose.

     Billy White jerked awake abruptly and had only a second to blink confusedly at Luca before the murderer-for-hire drove the knife blade straight through his two stacked hands deep into the wood of the table. The man screamed hoarsely in agony, the sound muffled through the gag. His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the pain and he stomped on the vinyl laminate of the kitchen floor, both in pain and in the instinctive hope that someone downstairs might hear and come to see what in heaven’s name was going on.

     Luca slapped him roughly. “Better stop doin’ that, mate, ‘fore I pin yer feet to the ground wit’ another knife,” he said.

     The man stilled instantly. Breathing heavily through his nose and blinking away tears in his eyes, he stared up at Luca with that frantic pleading look that said, _what do you want._ A slow pool of blood was spreading across the table.

     “There’s a good pet. Now…. You owe Mr. Pellio quite a bit a’bread, don’t you,” Luca said almost conversationally. He gripped the man’s hair and pulled his head back and forced him to meet his eyes. “Nearly five thousand quid now, innit? He pointedly looked at the knife he held in his hand, its twin currently pinning Billy’s hands to the table like butterfly specimens, then back at Billy. “You got any a’ it?”

     Billy nodded his head furiously, yanking his hair at the roots in Luca’s iron grip. He tried to say something but his words were garbled and muffled.

     “You do? That’s nice now, innit. Where’s it at, pet?” Luca said pleasantly.

     The man tried to speak again. Luca loosened the knot behind the man’s head a bit and removed the gag. “What’d you say, pet?”

     “The tin on the man’el,” Billy croaked, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips. “O’er there. Mate, please, I swear I’ll pay Pellio back, I jus’ need more—”

     “Shh, jus’ shut up a tick,” Luca said, shoving the gag back in his mouth. He went over to the mantel. “Nice picture, this,” he remarked, picking up a framed photograph of Billy with a plain but pleasant faced woman. They were smiling and standing outside a pub. He turned and looked at the pinned man. “Yer bird? Think she could ‘elp you out?”

     Billy shook his head, struggling to say something. “Oh, she’s dead? Shame. Well, I reckon that’s a trip saved, then.” He spotted the tin and picked it up. Opening it, he saw a small roll of notes. He brought it back and shook it all out on the table in front of Billy, avoiding the pool of blood. Montie didn’t like _actual_ ‘blood money’.

     Luca quickly counted it. “Oof, comin’ up bit short innit, pet? Only got about a thousand quid ‘ere. Yer ‘bout four thousand short now, ain’t you. Wot’s to be done ‘bout that now?”

     He removed the gag again. Billy immediately started babbling. “Mate, please, I’m gon’ get the money back to Pellio. I swear. Oh, God. There’s a thousand there now, innit? I just need time. Please—”

     The hit-man stuffed the gag back in and retied the knot. He hated babblers. They always gave him a bloody headache. “Now listen ‘ere, pet. See, Mr. Pellio’s been a good sport till now, hasn’t he? Gone an' gave you several warnings an' everythin’. Can’t really expect me to drive back to London wit’ jus’ a thousand quid, though, right? So again….” Luca leaned in close, locking eyes with the terrified Billy White. “Wot’s to be done ‘bout that, pet? Hm?”

     Picking up his knife again, Luca said, as if explaining something to a small child, “See, the thing is, since we know we ain’t gettin’ our money back from you an' we can’t ignore the problem, we gots to _convey_ , as Mr. Pellio says, to our other borrowers we’re serious ‘bout gettin’ our funds back. Poor sods like you get made examples outta. It ain’t nothin’ _personal_ , pet,” his tone turned reassuring when Billy began to thrash again and tried to shout. He punched Billy on the side of the head, stunning him. Luca took the opportunity of the momentary stillness to bend down and drive two knives into his feet, pinning them to the floor as well. The gag muffled the man’s scream. “It’s jus’ business.”

     Standing up and brushing off his hands, Luca folded the thousand quid tidily and tucked it into his pocket. “That’s us sorted, then.”

     Billy White’s eyes rolling in agony, Luca took out a curved blade with a wicked edge. “Laminate floorin’ knife,” Luca explained, waving it. The man’s breathing quickened, each breath shallow. Hyperventilating. “Fuckin’ quality blades, these.”

     With that, he stabbed Billy quite suddenly low in the stomach and tugged it upwards with a bit of effort through his clothes and abdominal muscle. A mess of blood and ruined guts spilled out all over Billy White’s lap and onto the floor. Luca must have sliced through the lower intestine, for the foul stench of human faeces went up from the mess. The man was in shock and was jerking uncontrollable in the chair.

     Suddenly furious, Luca went mad and started stabbing the man in the back over and over again after he had slumped over. At some point, he must had pierced the artery in the neck because a pathetic spray of blood came up and splattered over his front. It went on for minutes until panting heavily, Luca came back into himself and forced himself to step back.

     Breathing deeply and coughing, Luca looked down at himself, at the knife in his hand, and the bloody ruin of what used to be Billy White slopped at the table. He found he didn’t seem to remember the last few minutes. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Luca calmed himself. He had seen both Montie Pellio’s face and the blurry generic face of an inmate who might hurt Enzo flashing back and forth in Billy White’s rapidly paling face. He tossed the knife into the bag and went to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.

     Wiping his hands, Luca took out the bottle of bleach that he had in his bag and liberally sloshed it over the bloody scene. He might have been slightly mad, but he wasn’t stupid.

     That taken care of, Luca took off his ruined shirt and tugged on the clean one he had brought with him. He put the bloody thing in a plastic shopping bag to burn later.

     The stink of sewage and bleach was getting unbearable and Luca covered his nose with the collar of his shirt. Running a critical eye over the carnage one more time, Luca found everything satisfactory. He ducked out the fire escape.

•••

     Montie Pellio’s mobile buzzed in his pocket and he groaned into Stephanie’s mouth. What timing. Breaking the kiss, Pellio pecked her on the nose in apology and dug out his mobile. There was a message from Luca.

           

      _From: Luca_

_To: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_got ur fuckin coffee. want a pic_

_Received: 12:34 pm_

 

     Fuckin’ disgusting bastard. Montie Pellio’s mouth twisted. This was supposed to be a standard visit, with an allowance for a discrete amount of violence. Luca only offered to take a picture when the job had been especially messy. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in trying to make his boss sick. This was probably going to cost him a lot in lost revenue both from interest rates if his other borrowers got wind of this and paid up too quickly and from bigger clients declining to do further business with him. Maintaining a loan sharking business was to toe a fine line between collecting and pressing clients to borrow more than they could pay in within a certain time so as to rack up interest cuts. Fuckin’ hell, Luca. He had been doing so well until now, too.

     The bed shifted and Stephanie draped an arm over his shoulder. “What is it, darling? Your mobile’s been ringing all night,” she said. She stroked a hand over his bare chest.

     “Sorry, love. Jus’ a bit a’business that can’t wait. Jus’ a tick, alright?” He smiled quickly at her. She nodded understandingly. Top girl she was. He tapped out a reply.

 

      _From: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_To: Luca_

_no. is this gon be expensive?_

_Sent: 12:36 pm_

 

     Montie’s mobile buzzed again as he was sliding off Stephanie’s panties and mouthing at her wet slit. “No…” she moaned. She gasped as his tongue flicked out and lapped at her clit. “D-don’t stop, darling.” Smirking, Pellio rubbed his hands up and down her inner thighs, holding her spread open for him. She tasted sweet and he went at her like a dog at a juicy steak.

     He had two fingers in her and was pressing and rubbing the spot inside her that made her whimper and shriek and tighten around his fingers when his mobile buzzed again on the bedside table. It buzzed several more times as Montie, feeling Stephanie was getting close, lined himself up with her now sopping wet cunt and pushed in just as she came hard, her tight hole clenching down on him as he thrust into her. He fucked her through her orgasm, his fingers never leaving her swollen clit and she writhed and cried out beneath him.

     “Oh God, oh God,” Stephanie cried. “I-it’s so good, d-don’t stop!”

     Grunting, Pellio pulled out and bodily turned her over onto her hands and knees before thrusting in again, making her cry out sweetly. He could feel himself getting close, the heat tightening in his groin, and he snarled, “Gon’ come in your fuckin’ cunt, bitch. Fill you up. You want that, bitch?”

     “Yes, f-fuckin’ come in me, babe, come in me,” Stephanie cried, pushing back into his thrusts. Pellio grunted and slammed into her a few more times, the girl clenching around him as she came again untouched. He swore, feeling her slick inner heat milk his length and released inside her.

     “Fuck,” he swore, thrusting shallowly through his own high. The girl whimpered, sensitive. The Mafia kingpin stayed buried inside her for a moment, catching his breath and feeling the hazy euphoria wash over him, before slowly withdrawing. Stephanie whimpered and collapsed onto the bed.

     Smirking, Pellio rolled her over and pulled her thighs apart gently. “Lemma see, love.” She smiled dazedly at him and pushed out obediently. A thick dollop of creamy white slowly dripped out of her gaping hole and onto her soft thigh. Montie ran a finger through it and rubbed it into her folds, chuckling at her weak whimpers at the oversensitivity. He used two fingers to push his come back in and fingered her just to hear her cry out softly. Brushing her clit once more, he collapsed onto the bed next to her and drew her up close to his chest.

     “That was fuckin’ lovely, darlin’, thanks.” He kissed her on the neck as he reached over her to finally pick up his mobile. She murmured something sleepily into his shoulder.

     Four missed messages, all from Luca. Fuckin’ hell. Sighing, he opened them.

 

      _From: Luca_

_To: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_probably_

_Received: 12:40 pm_

_From: Luca_

_To: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_[picture attached]_

_Received: 12:42 pm_

     Montie saw a glimpse of the photo before he deleted it. Christ. He glanced down at Stephanie but the girl, poor thing, was absolutely tuckered out and was asleep on his arm. Fuckin’ hell, that was a lot of blood. He suppressed a wave of nausea and read on.

 

      _From: Luca_

_To: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_wot u think_

_Received: 12:43 pm_

 

_From: Luca_

_To: 074xx-xxxxxx_

_picked up another coffee_

_Received: 1:29 pm_

     Fuck. Montie glanced at the time. That was two minutes ago. Luca was out of control. He had to rein him in before the idiot left a trail of slaughter all along the length of England.

     With great reluctance, Montie eased his arm out from underneath Stephanie. He held his breath as she moaned and stirred slightly before settling again. Relieved, Montie drew the covers over her and got dressed quickly. He left a short note and a cheque with a generous bonus on the bedside table for Stephanie. Turning out all the lights but the lamp on the table, he quietly left the hotel room.

     In the car being driven back to his house, Montie Pellio called Luca. The hitman didn’t pick up. Montie cursed and ended the call to try again. It rang several times before Luca finally picked up. There was a rustling sound as if Luca was fumbling to get a grip on the mobile and then his gravelly bass said, “’lo?”

     “Luca.” Montie Pellio took a deep breath to calm himself before he went and said something that he would regret later as he bled out on the floor. “Luca. What the _fuck_ do you mean you ‘picked up another coffee’?” he hissed. “I told you, _one_ ‘red eye’.”

     “I mean I picked up a coffee. An actual coffee. Like the fuckin’ drink.” Luca sounded like he was driving.

     “...Oh.” Montie slumped back in his seat, relieved. “I thought you meant—never fuckin’ mind. What the fuck was that picture you sent me? Fuckin’ hell, Luca, I don’t even know what I was lookin’ at.”

     “It’s a fuckin’ ‘red eye’, innit,” Luca growled. He sounded a bit strange and Luca pinched the bridge of his nose. He did _not_ need Luca going mental on him right now. Christ, he needed to get Enzo out, and soon. “Done wot you told me to do. Maybe I got a bit carried away.”

     “That’s gon’ cost me a fortune an' you fuckin’ know it, Luca!” Montie snapped. “Fuckin’ hell, that looked like a fuckin’ slaughterhouse! An',” he cut Luca off, “don’t fuckin’ send me pictures. I was wit’ a fuckin’ bird!”

     “Not me fuckin’problem innit, boss,” was all Luca said. Montie fumed silently. He hadn’t had to deal with a Luca like this in so long, he’d forgotten what the stress was like. “An' boss?”

     “What?” Pellio snapped.

     “I didn’t actually get a coffee. It was a ‘red eye’. Better get a fuckin’ move on with Enzo, boss.” Pellio’s mobile chirped, signalling his leashed murderer had hung up on him.

     The kingpin stared at his mobile in disbelief before cursing loudly and throwing the device violently on the floor. “Fuck!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this image in my head of Luca as a really cute dog bringing back mangled wildlife for his master and wagging his tail, delighted that he's such a good provider, and Montie shouting at him for being a bad dog.
> 
> Montie buys you a steak dinner for reading this far and darkly sassy Luca buys you actual coffee. We're going back to check on Enzo in the next chapter~


	6. Lockdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit of a breather and a bit of set-up after that last Luca party~ Sparks at the end.

     Things got easier for Enzo as the days and then weeks slowly went by. By the third day, word that the new meat had been claimed by prison boss Danio Giovanetti had gotten around to every man. Some of the men still talked him up just to see him flush violently, but they never went beyond words and Enzo learned to take it in stride. Vinny was one of the ones who enjoyed mercilessly teasing the boy just to get a rise out of him. He was a good mate, though, and always called out the other inmates if they went too far.

     By the second week, Danio started talking shop with him in their cell. He was a naturally likeable kid with the guards and Danio saw that as something he could use. He pointed out the guards that were easier to lead astray from the regulations and told Enzo the items that were most in demand among the inmates. It would be a low risk job that was unlikely to get Enzo hurt. Everyone had to earn their respect in prison.

     Danio started the kid out on the small items first. Sweets were big. You wouldn’t know it to look at them, but prisoners have a massive sweet tooth. Chocolates, candies, jams and jellies, biscuits, and cakes if they could get them. None of those foodstuffs were considered “essential”, so they rarely came into the prison officially. Enzo’s new job was to cosy up to some of the singled out guards and convince them to smuggle the sweets in for him.

     It worked like a dream. Two guards in particular, an Irish woman named Aileen and a big Ukrainian man named Olek, took to Enzo especially and willingly brought in chocolate bars and bags of candies for him. These went back to Danio, who, after giving Enzo his share, traded the chocolates for other items and sold the candies to prisoners wanting to make pruno.

     Finding the time to manage multiple operations like this was difficult. Life in Grey Hill Correctional Facility was dictated by a strictly enforced schedule to “maintain order and promote the highest level of safety possible”, as the website for the prison explained for the benefit of nervous first-timers and anxious relatives. The same speech was given by the prison warden to each incoming prisoner as well. The mantra was repeated by every official, guard, chaplain, and teacher whenever an inmate started getting aggressive and challenged the system. It was usually only the newer inmates who did question the schedule. Older prisoners soon found that the routine and having someone tell them when to do what was actually somewhat reassuring because it took away the pressure of making such daily decisions.

     Cell doors were electronically unlocked each morning at 7:00 sharp. Prisoners were expected to get up at this time and make their beds and wash up for the day. The breakfast bell rang at 7:45 and the kitchen stopped serving food at 8:30. If prisoners were in a degree programme or assigned a job, they were to be there at 9:00 precisely. There was a break for lunch at 1:00 and then work and classes were to resume at 3:00 after a free hour. Prisoners not in a degree programme or assigned work that day were to find “peaceful and constructive ways to entertain themselves” till dinner at 6:00. After dinner, all inmates were permitted four hours of free time. Night lockup was at 10:00.

     After a jittery start, Enzo had fallen into the rhythm of life at Grey Hill. His transition was undeniably helped immensely not just by his new “job”, but by Danio himself. The man, for all his blunt mannerisms and complete unfamiliarity with the nicer aspects of human nature, seemed willing to go above simply extending his protective influence over Enzo and in free moments, offered him helpful advice, conversation, and sometimes, an awkward listening ear when the boy couldn’t help but cry at night. As in, he lay there awake on his bunk listening to Enzo sniffle above him and periodically interjected with a tired “You’re gon’ be alright, Enzo, c’mon,” and “Chin up, lad,” when it felt appropriate. If Enzo climbed down to get a drink of water, he’d let the boy sit on the end of his bunk and pat his shoulder awkwardly in a repetition of their first meeting.

     Enzo couldn’t hold it against him, though. Men like Danio were the standard in his life outside. They were emotionally illiterate bastards who found it nearly impossible to express gentler human emotions. Shoulder patting and uncomfortable words of sympathy were one step away from girly movie nights with ice cream and chocolates for them. Luckily for Enzo, Johnny was far better at taking on the softer emotions of life than Danio was. Being the oldest of two brothers and three sisters and growing up with a single working mum, Johnny was very familiar with crying brats and how to handle them. Far from being a coddler, though, Johnny was a keen advocate and disciple of ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. If Danio griped to him about how Enzo had kept him up nearly half the night with his sobbing, Johnny would slap the boy on the back and drag him out to the lifting equipment in the yard and order him to sweat himself and all his tears out. He didn’t believe in letting pity parties fester for more than a minute or two and repeatedly remarked in regards to solving the problems of life, “If you can hit it, fuckin’ hit it. If you can’t, don’t let it get ya.” Enzo quickly figured out that it was a typical Johnny-esque simplification of the more widely applicable “If it’s something you don’t have control over, there’s no point in letting it bother you.”

     In the beginning, the weight lifting sessions always inevitably ended with Enzo feeling dizzy and nauseous from overexertion and needing to have a lie-down. He nearly dropped a weight on his neck once when he came close to actually fainting. Johnny had received a thorough dressing down from Danio as well as Big Eli about that and maybe a couple hits. Somewhere into the second week, however, Enzo’s stamina began to improve and he stopped needing Johnny to support him back to his cell.

     It probably wasn’t fair to compare Enzo to his larger, bulked-up counterparts, but there was no denying that he was stronger than when he had first come to Grey Hill. Feeling a secret sense of accomplishment at being able to put up a decent fight against Fredo in an arm wrestling match was probably unfounded as well, considering that the pickpocket possessed only slightly more musculature than him and couldn’t even do a single pull-up, but as Johnny said, struggling not to laugh, “Little steps, mate.”

     Some of the other inmates, friendly mates of Johnny’s, had taken to watching Enzo struggle with the weights every day. Even Danio came out to watch a few times. They had teased Johnny about him becoming a personal trainer and how skinny little Enzo, who had gained a certain amount of appreciative acceptance of his own thanks to the sweets job, was going to beat him soon. Johnny had replied, “Better than you fuckin’ bellends, innit. Least I’ll actually have some fuckin’ competition ‘round here.”

     Things had gotten serious after that and Enzo somehow become their chance for redemption, their champion, against Johnny. Johnny’s mates started giving him advice and encouragement and started interrupting Johnny and Enzo so much in the yard with their own advice and demonstrations that Johnny sometimes just stood back and watched, amused as his mates worked out vicariously through the kid.

     Enzo soon had less time to spend in the yard with Johnny and his mates. He called Luca every Saturday during calling hours. A little more than a month after Enzo had been in Grey Hill, he was at the phone as usual, dialling in one of the few numbers he knew.

     “ _‘lo?”_

“Luca, it’s me,” Enzo said softly.

      _“Enzo! You alright?”_ Luca sounded relieved and anxious at the same time. He usually did nowadays whenever Enzo rang him up. There was a lot of background noise and the sound of shouting.

     “Hey,” he smiled. “’m alright. You in a pub or somethin’?”

    _“Yeah. Needed a drink.”_ His voice sounded slightly slurred and it had that softness to it that only appeared when he was five or six Stellas in. Or three scotches, neat.

“You’re a few in, aren’t you,” Enzo accused.

 _"…Yeah,”_ Luca admitted. _“On me third one. ‘s alright though, innit. Feel fine.”_

     “Shouldn’t drink so much, Luca. ‘s bad for you, innit, and y’know how you get when—”

     _“Yeah, alright, alright, I ge’ it,”_ the hit-man said, his tone placating. He’d heard it hundreds of times before. _“Listen, I went an’ saw Pellio yesterday—”_

“Like you do nearly every day,” Enzo commented. He smiled to soften his words. He never voiced it aloud because he knew it’d just embarrass the man, but he’d learned from talking to Montie the one time the kingpin came to visit just how attached Luca actually was to him. Montie hadn’t said this in so many words, but it had been implied behind, “I’ve been buggin’ that judge constantly, kid. God knows I need you back, Luca’s been goin’ fuckin’ mental wit’out you, been in a right state. e’s gettin’ ready to cut me fuckin’ ‘ead off.”

      _“—and ‘e said the judge’s workin’ on settin’ a date fer you to meet wit’ a parole board soon,”_ Luca continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

     “…Really? The judge’s handin’ it over to a parole board already?” Enzo hardly dared to believe it.

      _“Yeah, well. I think ‘e woulda jus’ gone an’ ‘ad a retrial, Pellio said somethin’ ‘bout ‘reasonable doubt’, but guess yer goin’ straight to a parole board. ‘pparently it’s quicker.”_

     “That’s…that’s brilliant, Luca,” Enzo said gratefully, his voice wobbling a bit with the threat of welling tears. “Thank you so much.”

     Luca coughed awkwardly. _“Oi, don’t cry on me, lad. It weren’t nothin’ anyways. An’ it’s not gon’ play out fer a bit, so jus’ sit tight. Paperwork an’ all that bollocks. But listen…. I was thinkin’ while yer in, you should go fer one of them degree programmes you got there. Keep you outta trouble.”_

“I guess…. D’you think I’m gon’ be here for that long, though?”

      _“Doubt it._ ” Luca sounded more hopeful than confidently doubtful. _“But you ain’t gettin’ an education out here in a university. Think it’d be good fer you to learn somethin’ off a book fer a change, even if it’s jus’ a bit. Yer a smart lad.”_

Enzo was quiet for a moment while he thought it over. It was true that he had no chance of going to university after he got out. He’d dropped out of his final year of secondary school when he had started making more money under Montie Pellio and was asked to take on more jobs. Besides the occasional bullying, Enzo had actually liked school. The degree programme Grey Hill offered was a chance for inmates to earn a university degree so they would have a better chance at assimilating again into society. There were several different options available that covered a range of interests. It was a relatively new programme and not one that was common yet among prisons.

      _“Enzo? You still there?”_

“Yeah, sorry. Was thinkin’.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll do it. I’ll ask somebody ‘bout it.”

      _“Brilliant. Yer gon’ be jus’ fine, lad.”_

     “Yeah,” Enzo smiled so the man could hear it in his voice.

      _“That bloke Giovanetti doin’ alright by you? ‘Cause if he ain’t….”_ Luca asked this every time.

     “He’s _fine_ , Luca. Legend. Don’t worry, alright.” Enzo’s answer was also the same each time, fondly exasperated in a way that still conveyed understanding of the cause of the older man’s concern. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re turnin’ into me mum or somethin’.”

     Luca ignored the comment. _“…I’ll cut his fuckin’ throat.”_

Enzo rolled his eyes but smiled. In another world, the threat would have been sweet coming from an anxiously protective father furious on behalf of his darling girl because it wouldn’t actually happen. In another world.

     A guard tapped Enzo on the shoulder. “Five minutes, mate,” he said. The boy nodded.

     “I gotta go in a tick, Luca,” Enzo said, turning back to the phone. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid while I’m not there, alright?”

Luca grunted. Best not to mention last night’s mess in Leeds that Montie was currently struggling to clean up, then. Or the one in Birmingham. Say what you wanted about Luca, he was not a man to make promises he couldn’t or didn’t intend to keep. _“I’m swappin’ phones in a couple days, kid.”_ Luca and most of Montie Pellio’s men used disposable pay-as-you-go mobiles that they abandoned on a regular schedule. With wire-tapping more sophisticated than ever, even with the basic code they used in business communications, it was all they could do to stay one step ahead of England’s finest. _“You remember what Montie taught you? Lemme give you the new number….”_

New phone number written on a scrap of paper clutched safely in hand, Enzo headed to the tiny office that served as the centre for programme enrolment and work detail request.

     It was surprisingly straight-forward to sign up for a degree programme. The man working there was pleasant and spoke with a thick Geordie accent and smiled kindly when Enzo said he was thinking about earning a degree. He showed Enzo the different degrees that were available through online courses sponsored by some of the UK’s best universities and in-classroom teachers. In the end, it came down to choosing between criminal law and animal science. After some deliberation and questions, Enzo signed up for the course pathway for criminal law. He’d be more useful to Montie after he got out.

     “Right, I’ve gone ahead and put you in the system, Lucelli,” the clerk said. “The programme prioritises class time over any work assignments you may come up for, but you’re expected to show up every day for class just like you would a job. Books and materials will be provided when you start tomorrow.” He printed off a schedule and handed it to Enzo. “Best of luck, yeah?” he smiled, shaking Enzo’s hand.

     “Cheers, mate,” Enzo smiled back.        

•••

     As Enzo was walking back though general population on the way back to his cell, there was a sudden commotion at the other end of the open stretch closest to the mess hall. Shouting echoed off the concrete walls and the squeak of regulation trainers was loud. It sounded like a fight had just broken out. Guards and prisoners alike ran past him and Enzo quickly pressed himself against a wall to avoid being knocked down and trampled underfoot.

     Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he hesitantly headed towards the small crowd that had gathered by then. He scanned the crowd for a familiar face and seeing Vinny, went to stand next to him.

     “What happened?” Enzo said, squeezing in. They were still towards the back of the crowd and Enzo couldn’t see what they were all circled around. He could hear the guards cuffing someone and shouting for somebody to get the stretcher.

     Vinny shook his head. “One of Bashkim’s boys got shanked. It don’t look good, kid. Blood’s everywhere, ‘s a fuckin’ mess.”

     “Who did it?”

     Another head shake and a sharp look this time. “Don’t know,” Vinny said. His look told Enzo that he knew and that it wasn’t safe to say at the moment. Enzo got the hint and quieted.

     Two men wearing the light blue uniform of the hospital wing came running up with a wheeled stretcher and pushed through the crowd. In the gap that resulted, Enzo was able to slip in.

     And stopped, rooted to the spot in shock.

     Blood was everywhere on the floor in dark red splashes. A man he recognised as one of Bashkim’s lower-ranking men lay gasping painfully for air on the floor. His blood stained the front of his shirt and trousers and a sharpened toothbrush handle, its sharp end bloody, lay abandoned next to him. He’d been stabbed in the abdomen many times with the shank and judging by where the dark stain of blood came up to on the shank, the wounds were deep. Possibly fatally so.

     The man in handcuffs was a new inmate, one that had just come in last week. So this was a ‘prove your bones’ jump, not a personal grudge. Most inmates, in order to gain protection, were forced to go through some sort of test as an initiation. Enzo shivered, Danio’s words from his first day echoing around his head. _“Most newbies would kill to have that.”_

     The medics had pressed thick gauze pads to the wounds and were now carefully lifting the victim onto the stretcher. It didn’t look good; the pads had already been bled through and blood was all over the medics’ blue nitrile gloves. The medics were professionals and were accustomed to dealing with the hardened criminals their patients were, but even they looked worried as they briskly assured the wounded man he was going to be alright.

     Enzo didn’t even realise he was frozen, his mind stuck, until a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and shook him lightly.

     “Oi. Alright, Enzo?”

     Enzo looked over, his head leaning back slightly as always, to see Danio looking at him with a slight look of concern.

     “Alright?” Danio repeated. When Enzo only nodded numbly, he made his own deductions. “Maybe not. You shouldn’t be seein’ this, kid. There’s gon’ be a lockdown in a second, you might as well head on back first.” He gave him a light push to get him moving. “You’re okay, kid. Go on.”

     As he was walking back to their cell in a slowly clearing haze, Enzo saw the guards hauling away the attacker. The improvised shank had been bagged as evidence and a man with a camera was taking pictures of the scene before the cleaners came in. The victim had been long ago whisked to hospital, one medic speaking urgently into his radio to have blood transfusion ready to go.

     Enzo had barely reached their cell when the loudspeaker and guards started shouting for all prisoners to return to their cells for lockdown and inspection. He had nothing out of the ordinary to hide, except maybe a rather large bag of sweets, but having a sweet tooth was hardly against regulation. Danio on the other hand….

     Danio came in and Enzo threw him a look that was somehow worried and questioning all at once.

     “All set,” he said by way of reply. “You?” Then seeing Enzo’s sceptical expression, “Stupid question, huh. Get ready.”

     Guards came into their cell several minutes later and had them stand near the door out of the way as one guard systematically went through their space and belongings.

     He patted down their mattresses, sliding his hands carefully up and down the bedding to detect any objects that might be hidden. There was a forgotten hard candy in Enzo’s bed that the guard threw into the trash bag with a snort and the pieces for a crude tattoo gun in Danio’s mattress that another guard confiscated in a clear plastic bag labelled with their cell number. A search in the cupboards revealed nothing but Enzo’s bag of sweets, the few toiletries they had, a couple books—which the guard flipped through meticulously to be rewarded with a broken razor blade—and the family photos both of them had brought with them.

     They thoroughly turned the cell upside down, much to Enzo’s growingly evident dismay. He disliked other people riffling through his stuff. Danio sensed his tension and put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a look that said _Better get used to_ this. The guards weren’t stupid; they were being extra thorough for a reason. They knew Danio Giovanetti was a major player in the Grey Hill system. He was bound to have some contraband in his cell.

     “You gentlemen done?” Danio drawled. “Got a book I wanna finish. It’s a crackin’ good read, ‘s about some blokes who go on a trip through the galaxy after Earth’s scheduled to be demolished. Better than any high. It’s got _talkin’ dolphins_ straight off the first chapter. You might like it, mate.”

     “Might have ta pass on that one, Giovanetti, as fascinatin’ as that sounds,” the guard said mildly, surprisingly humouring him. He straightened up from where he was inspecting the floor beneath the beds. “Not bad this time, Giovanetti. Only two things I need ta confiscate? Almost all is right wit’ the world.” He gestured for them to have their space back. “You’ll hear from the warden if you’ll be punished for the tattoo gun and the razor. In the meantime, stay outta trouble. Keep pretty boy from gettin’ jumped, too.” With that, the guards were moving on to the next cell, trailed by a glare from Enzo.

     “Oh let it go, kid,” Danio groaned, falling back on his bed. “You gotta be used to that by now. Ain’t exactly a lie, innit.”

     “I thought you said you were ‘all set’,” Enzo said, deliberately changing the subject. “They found shit of yours.”

     “Decoys,” Danio replied, waving a hand. “It’d be weird if I had a completely clean inspection, innit. That shit was worthless anyways. Took care of the other stuff earlier.”

     “Oh….” Danio’s words ran through his mind again and his mouth fell open slightly. “Wait. How’d you know…?”

     “Know what?”

     “Know what Kate and Prince bloody William were gon' name their baby before the tabloids did,” Enzo replied sarcastically. “No, how’d you know there’d be lockdown inspection?”

     Danio shrugged. “Little birdie told the grapevine, grapevine told me.” His tone said to drop the topic, so Enzo did.

           

     An hour later, guards came into the cell and took Danio away in handcuffs. For the first time since coming to prison, Enzo was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, I realised I should maybe explain what 'pruno' is? Pruno is "prison wine" that inmates make because alcohol is, for good reason, banned in lockup, and it's a horrid, nasty homemade alcohol made from fruit, candy, ketchup, literally anything that might have sugar in it, and hunks of bread thrown in for a yeast source. It gets you pissed up, though, and I suppose that's all that matters...?
> 
> I feel like Luca would be a really great dad if he wasn't a literal murdering machine. As always, thank you so much for reading! I'm grateful to each and every one of you readers. I've got a pretty solid map of where this story is going now, so slowly, but surely, I will be finishing this. I've got university coming back up, and work, and programme applications, but this is my pet project~ 
> 
> Enzo shares his candy with you for reading this far and Johnny the personal trainer says to fasten your seatbelts because the calm bit's over and it's about to go down.


	7. The Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies! This is a bit of a developmental and character growth chapter. The action's going to pick up soon, I promise.

     The first thing Enzo Lucelli had ever learned upon joining Montie Pellio’s Family was to never be a fucking grass. You said nothing and the Man got nothing from you. “Never rat on your mates” was said so often that it might as well have been cross-stitched and framed up on the kitchen wall like some kitschy decoration in grandmother’s kitchen. You ratted on your mate, you might as well kill yourself afterwards because you would live the rest of your suddenly very short life looking over your shoulder. It hadn’t been fear of retribution that had kept Enzo from turning Luca in, though. Luca himself had been against Enzo taking the fall and Montie would have been hard pressed to find a man in the Family who would’ve been willing to put a bullet between Enzo’s eyes, even for being a grass. No, it was pure loyalty to Luca that had been the reason why Enzo had willingly taken the rap. Even now, living literally amongst the wolves, Enzo wouldn’t give Luca up. That wasn’t how Enzo worked and that wasn’t how the Family worked.

     The man who stabbed Bashkim’s boy Gjon, an English bloke named Stephen Brennings, clearly didn’t understand that.

     It didn’t take Stephen Hawking to figure out that Danio’s very obvious sudden absence following the attack on one of Bashkim’s gang was one and the same. Rumours that it was Danio himself who had ordered the hit on Gjon spread quickly throughout A Block, sending dangerous rumbles through Bashkim’s faction that made everyone else more than a little uneasy. The rumours were confirmed a couple days later by a guard who was always a little too chatty anyways and who spilled quite easily when an inmate struck up a friendly conversation.

     Danio Giovanetti was in solitary confinement and was to be there for at least three weeks for ‘allegedly’ ordering the attack and perhaps attempted murder of a fellow inmate. There was still the issue of a lack of evidence other than verbal accusation, but the decision to add an additional ten years to his remaining sentence was being considered. When Stephen was offered a deal—cooperate with the investigation and receive protective custody and the special consideration of “acting under coercion” when the murder charge came up in court—he had snitched so fast that the officer interviewing him had to actually stop him to prepare another tape because he hadn’t expected such a quick response.

     Murder carried a mandatory life sentence. Stephen gave the biggest middle finger possible in the underworld and turned grass. He gave Danio up in a heartbeat.

     Gjon had been airlifted to an outside hospital after it had been quickly determined that the prison hospital was simply not equipped or staffed to handle the more severe of his injuries. Besides major blood loss, there had been significant damage to the stomach and perforation of the small intestine from the strength and depth of the blows. Sepsis was a major concern as the bacterial filth of the lower gut entered the rest of the body and contaminated internal wounds.

     Gjon died of his injuries later that night. He died handcuffed to a hospital bed all alone. His wife wasn’t able to get to the hospital in time to say goodbye to him. Their two year old daughter had been playing with her mobile phone and she had missed the hospital’s call.

     News of Gjon’s lonely death quickly came back to the prison. Word of mouth circulated that Bashkim had met with Gjon’s widow, who had come to Grey Hill requesting to meet with the Albanian gang leader and plead for vengeance. She and her young daughter would be well looked after by the gang outside and would never want for anything. All she wished for was her husband to be avenged so he could rest in peace.

     With the makings of a coming blood feud in the air, even the prison guards were on edge. They could feel the tension in the air and were on a hair trigger. Gang disputes were not uncommon, but they were usually low-key matters that were taken care of relatively discreetly among the prisoners themselves and didn’t usually erupt into deadly crossfire. Blood feuds, on the other hand, were long-running things that were passed down the generations, rarely ever ending completely. The trouble between Bashkim’s men and Giovanetti’s had been brewing for some time now. Men on both sides had come in with grudges from the outside and Bashkim’s and Giovanetti’s respective bosses had an ongoing territory dispute and feud that had already begun to trickle down through the ranks. It wouldn’t surprise anyone at all if the murder of Gjon was the trigger that would drown the entire block in a war between the two top gangs.

     The immediate move of both factions was to temporarily close recruitment. If the two factions agreed on anything, it was that accepting new members at this time was too risky. New members might be power-hungry sharks looking to take over a gang from the inside during the tensions. Inmates without the protection of a gang or the hope of finding one in the near future suddenly found themselves in a very uncertain standing, and uncertainty was dangerous. They might be attacked as stress relief when tensions got too high but neither side was willing to risk retaliation by jumping an opposing gang member, or they might be found useful and their services as neutral messengers might be employed. It was a very mixed bag.

     With rogue inmates roaming around general population and both sides looking for the slightest excuse to dissolve into an all-out war, thoughts on both sides immediately went to their weakest members. Bashkim surprised everyone when he had his rentboys accompanied everywhere to protect them. It seemed almost thoughtful. From a business perspective, though, there was nothing caring or compassionate about the gesture. It was just a smart, preventative business move. Nobody wanted to fuck a half-dead rentboy.

     Enzo, on the other hand, was under even stricter supervision. Danio had eased up slightly on having him accompanied everywhere he went after a month or so, trusting that the men he had everywhere would be able to take care of any problems. Enzo was now back to being followed by at least two of Danio’s boys, or just Johnny or Big Eli if they were available. Enzo didn’t mind being accompanied all the time, though. He rather liked having the company. Danio’s boys were all friendly to him and told him stories from their lives outside. The only part he hated was when they refused to let him handle anything himself. It was almost embarrassing how they would step in front of him if someone even got the least bit mouthy before he could even get more than a few words in. Logically, Enzo knew he was just being stupid and Danio’s gang was just trying to follow instructions and look out for him—which he appreciated, he really did—but he did frequently wish that he would become strong enough that people would let him deal with his own problems.

     If Enzo’s teachers noticed that Enzo had suddenly started showing up to class tailed by much larger inmates, they didn’t say anything. Inmates joined and dropped classes all the time. Just not usually the proper hardened ones. If they did notice, they simply started including them in the class. Enzo’s bodyguards were, surprisingly, always quiet and relatively respectful of the learning environment to avoid being thrown out. It did become a little more difficult to form friendships with bodyguards present, though. Whenever Enzo was having a conversation with a classmate he was friendly with, usually an inmate closer to his own age or hierarchical standing, the other party was always a little unnerved to see to a scowling hard man just looming menacingly over Enzo’s shoulder. This, the sense of being constantly underestimated, and the constant tension surrounding him was frustrating to the point that Enzo started sending messages to Danio down in solitary via messenger.

     Enzo was attempting to ignore his two shadows of the day, Henri ‘The Pianist’ and Ashley the bank robber, and was talking with another inmate in his class, a soft-spoken English lad just two years older than him named Mattie, when one of Danio’s errand runners handed him a scrap of paper discreetly. Thanking the man, Enzo unfolded the message while keeping an eye out for guards.

         _Enzo._

_this aint up for discussion. the boys stay. you aint here to make friends, im tryin to keep your skinny ass in one piece._

_dont be a fuckin idiot._

_-Danio_

_fuck. sorry, alright. jus wait till this bullshit blows over._     

     Sighing, Enzo crumpled the paper. When Frankie asked if he wanted to send anything back with him when he brought down Danio’s next meal, Enzo shook his head. “Thanks, mate. I’ll ask boss to give you a cut on the next thing, alright?”

     The man nodded easily. “Sure, Enzo. Cheers.”

     “So….” Mattie trailed off, looking at Enzo curiously as he poked glumly at the remains of his lunch. He saw Nana throwing a stern look in their direction and hastily started finishing up his own plate. Nana had taken a particular shining to him as well and had cheerfully plopped extra mash on his tray, telling him to start filling out like Enzo was starting to.

     “Wot’s up wit’ you and Giovanetti, then?” Mattie said around a mouthful of mash. Mattie had been recently transferred from C Block when they had exceeded capacity.

     “What you mean?” Enzo said, finally scraping up the last of his plate.

     “I mean, you sound like you speakin’ for the man,” Mattie said carefully. “Jus’ wonderin’ wot’s up wit’ that.”

     “Oh. _Oh_.” Enzo smiled slightly, catching the cautious look on the other boy’s face and hearing the meaning behind the words. “No, mate, ain’t nothin’ like that. ‘s just ‘cause me boss outside told him to look out for me. He’s a decent sort. You met him yet?”

     Mattie shook his head. “Nah, I jus’ got here, dunno anybody really. Nobody’s acceptin’ right now. Suppose ‘m jus’ lucky I ain’t been buggered  in the showers yet.”

     “You ain’t got a crew?” Enzo said, surprised.

     “Used to over in C Block,” Mattie shrugged. “Boss over there tried to get a message over to Giovanetti, but guess he jus’ missed ‘im.”

     Enzo sat there silently for a moment, clearly thinking. Mattie seemed like a nice enough kid and was in the same degree programme classes as Enzo was. He didn’t have a crew, though, so he was basically a sitting duck. Free game for anybody, really.

     Normally, a bloke wanting in with a crew went through a so-called “probationary” period where he had to prove his loyalty, so to speak. This period could last anywhere from a couple weeks to over a month. If he got through the probationary period, he was as good as made. However, there wasn’t time for a probationary period. The two top gangs controlled any smaller crews that prowled through the block; what the two bosses said went, and recruitment was closed. Unless…

     “I’ll vouch for you.”

     “Wot?” Mattie stared at Enzo.

     “I’ll vouch for you,” Enzo repeated. “Just a formality, innit. Innit, Ashley?” he directed to the bank robber sitting next to him.

     Ashley shrugged. He had finished his food long ago and had been flicking through Enzo’s class textbook out of sheer boredom for the past ten minutes. The book had some colour photos and concept illustrations of how the legal system worked that seemed to have had caught the hard man’s interest. “’s up to you, Enzo. Or Johnny. Not really sure who’s got the say nowadays while boss’s gone. Probably Johnny. But he probably won’t say nothin’.”

     “Right, see?” Enzo turned back to Mattie. “Just don’t go fuckin’ about and makin’ me look like a fuckin’ bellend, alright?” He smiled a little to show there wasn’t any real harshness to the words.

     “No foolin’, mate? You serious?” Mattie gaped at Enzo.

     “Yeah. Hey, tell you what,” Enzo said, grinning as he thought of a way he could benefit from the arrangement. “Just come to class with me and take the place of these poor sods and when boss comes back, I’ll put in a good word for you. Sound alright?”

     “Y-yeah. ‘s well mint, innit,” Mattie stammered, taken aback.

     “Oi….” Ashley started, his face doubtful. “Mate, I don’t—”

     “’s fine, Ashley, relax,” Enzo said dismissively. “’s not like you geezers enjoy havin’ to follow me around everywhere. Gives you a break, donnit.”

     Ashley still didn’t look convinced. “Dunno, mate. Y’know what’ll happen if boss don’t like it. Better talk to Johnny or sommin’.”

     Enzo sighed. “Fine….”

•••

     Johnny didn’t like it.

     “Have you _looked_ at the lad?” Johnny said disbelievingly. Enzo had found him in the yard working out—as usual, the fucking musclehead—and had brought Mattie out to meet him as well. “I could fuckin’ curl ‘im! No offence, mate,” he added, nodding to Mattie. The boy shook his head and shrugged. He was pretty aware of how he looked. Johnny put his weights down with a clang and turned back to Enzo. “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, kid. If anything was to happen, Mattie here would be ‘bout as useful as a matchstick fence in a hurricane. Best stick to Danio’s orders, Enzo.”

     Johnny turned back to the weights dismissively. As Enzo and Mattie went to leave, Enzo somewhat dejected that his bid for a bit of freedom had been shot down, Johnny said over his shoulder, “I don’t mind lookin’ after two of you. Sure the boys won’t either.”

     And with that casual acceptance, it quickly became automatic to say “Enzo and Mattie” when referring to even just one of them. The two were nearly inseparable, Enzo happy for company nearer his own age and demeanour for once, and Mattie grateful that someone had taken him in. Like Johnny said, the rest of the crew took babysitting for two in stride. Enzo wasn’t trying to duck them constantly now, which made their job easier.

     It actually became easier to talk to his classmates with Mattie next to him. Enzo was cautious when talking with the others, though. Word had gotten out that Enzo, “Giovanetti’s boy”, had accepted a newbie of his own, and rogues both in and out of class started trying to talk to him to get in good themselves. It was actually Mattie, though, and not Enzo or the bodyguards, who started getting rough with the persistent ones who were too obvious in their intentions. Mattie had been in prison longer than Enzo and he had far less patience than Enzo for their sly bullshit and a better eye for cons looking to take advantage somewhere. People like that were better off nursing an injury where they weren’t bothering anybody.

     There were genuine men, though, young inmates like himself, who Enzo really felt for. Some of them had been sexually assaulted already, several times even, and were now living out their sentence constantly on edge with their backs to the wall. After hearing word going around for a week that Enzo had taken in somebody on his own, they came to Enzo with the open intention of trying to gain the protection of a crew. Much to the discontent of Danio, Enzo took them in immediately like stray puppies and his little crew swelled to six.

     Besides Mattie, there was now Sasha, Alfie, Joey, Stefano, and Beni. Alfie and Joey were English lads who both looked like the runts of the litter and had been prostitutes on the outside. They had been jailed for killing johns who had “gotten a bit too ‘andsy”. They had both managed to avoid being raped so far by being quick with razors they managed to steal regularly. There was Sasha, a scrappy Russian who spoke only broken English and who had killed a man in a bar fight started precisely because of a misunderstanding due to the language barrier. Beni, who was from the same region of Italy as Enzo was, looked as if he could be Enzo’s brother if not twin, but their personalities could not be more different. Where Enzo was almost too kind for his own good, Beni was abrasive and aggressive. He wasn’t one to shy away from a fight and had murdered a man once in cold blood by shooting him point blank in the head. The last one, another Italian, Stefano was an absolute giant compared to the rest of them. He didn’t speak much, though his eyes showed he understood everything around him perfectly. Normally timid, however, he had a personality that was unfortunately easy to bully and manipulate. Nobody knew the full story of why he was in prison, only that he had killed three people. Enzo rather thought that he and Beni would be good company for each other, actually, but he kept from saying so just yet.

     The reaction to Enzo Lucelli’s new gang was mixed. Johnny thought it absolutely hilarious, as he did most things. Luca sounded amused over the phone that the little shrimp he had taken in so many years ago was slowly putting together his own following. Overall, however, he was quite supportive. He was, however, quite concerned that Danio wasn’t there. This concern was relayed back to Enzo in the form of a frantic phone call from a Montie Pellio made nearly incoherent in his terror that Luca was getting ready to knock him off for this latest hiccup. It took Enzo calling Luca again to reassure him that Danio was looking after him even from solitary to get him to edge back from Montie. For the time being.

     Danio, on the other hand, wasn’t so amused or impressed.

     “Danio says he ain’t runnin’ a fuckin’ shelter. Verba’im,” their regular messenger Frankie relayed faithfully to Enzo in the recreation area a couple days after the concept of Enzo having a gang had solidified. Danio and Enzo had stopped using paper and had started relying on their guy to loyally report back and forth verbally. It was quicker that way and it prevented unwanted eyes from seeing their communications. It did put the Enzo in the awkward position of having to send away whoever he was with each time—Mattie, more often than not, nowadays—and Frankie in the uncomfortable position of having to repeat insults, though. The poor man’s expression was nearly always apologetic. “Says you can’t jus’ take in every stray there is. Says your ragtag group of fuckboys can’t even defend themselves and that his men ain’t daycare nannies.”

     Enzo rolled his eyes, irritated. One of the ‘fuckboys’ was nearly as big as Danio. “Tell him that I can and I will and if he don’t like it, he can take it up with _Luca_.” Enzo was no longer above invoking Luca’s name if he wanted something bad enough. Prison changes a man. “And tell him that my ‘ragtag group of fuckboys’ are mean little fuckers with razors who’ve all killed geezers.”

     Frankie paled a little both at the mention of Luca and the thought of having to carry Enzo’s disrespect back to Danio but he nodded.

     The old Enzo would never have dreamed of disrespecting Danio by dangling the threat of Luca in front him like he was doing now, but the time of being away from Danio’s protective presence had pushed him to grow into assertiveness of his own. He was also a leader himself now and leaders had to step on toes sometimes.

     As Frankie went to leave, Enzo asked, “Any word on when Danio’s comin’ back?”

     The man shook his head. “Dunno, mate. Could be anywhere from this week to next month. They’re still investigatin’ upstairs.”

     Enzo nodded. “Alright. And I’m sorry ‘bout all this arguin’ bollocks. Let me know if Danio gets mean with you ‘cause of me, alright? I’ll sort it out.”

     “Sure, Enzo. Cheers.”

•••

     For all of Enzo’s newfound bravado, however, the fact remained that Enzo was still Danio’s lookout and without Danio and his crew, Enzo was powerless in Grey Hill. The boy was gently reminded of this by both Luca and surprisingly, Big Eli.

     The reminder from Luca came, of course, over the phone during calling hours. Luca got straight to the point and told him firmly to make good with Danio again.

 _“You know I always got you, kid. I can only get there so fast, though,”_ Luca reasoned with him. It sounded like he was in a pub again. _“I can only ‘clean up’, though. That Giovanetti geezer’s right there. We need ‘im. You get wot I’m sayin’?”_

     Enzo sighed, reluctant but seeing Luca’s reasoning. “Yeah….”

      _“I’m not sayin’ you shouldn’t keep yer boys,”_ Luca continued. _“Jus’ don’t be pissin’ Giovanetti off. ‘e does got a point. 'avin’ too many weak links, it don’t look good, kid. The man’s got an image ‘e gotta keep up.”_

“I know….”

      _“Jus’ fix things wit’ Giovanetti, Enzo, alright? And keep your chin up. Pellio’s still sortin’ that parole business out.”_

     Before he hung up, Luca added, _“You done good, kid. Fuckin’ proud of ya.”_

     Surprised, Enzo stared at the phone, which was now buzzing faintly with the dial tone. His eyes suddenly stung hotly and he had to bite his lip to keep the welling tears from falling.

     The second reminder was from Big Eli, of all people. The big man rarely spoke more than five words at once and usually kept to himself, so when he came into Enzo and Danio’s cell and sat down heavily on the stool across from the bunks, Enzo was more than a little surprised.

     “Eli?” Enzo closed the book he had been reading and shifted to sit on the edge of his bunk, letting his legs swing freely. “Alright, mate?” he said, his brow furrowing slightly in concern.

     Eli nodded to Johnny, who had been lounging lazily on Danio’s bunk. Getting the hint, Johnny rolled up easily and sauntered out, leaving the two of them to talk.

     “You’re a good lad,” Eli began in his gravelly bass. Each word was slowly enunciated, pushed out individually as if thought was behind each one. “We all love ya, kid. Boss loves ya, too, though ‘e thinks ‘e’s doin’ this ‘cause ‘a Luca.”

     Enzo stared at the big man. That was more words altogether than Enzo had ever heard him say in the entire time of knowing him.

     “This disrespect, it’s not good,” Eli said solemnly. Seeing the sudden anxious expression on Enzo’s face, he added, “No one else knows. I already spoke to the messenger. I like what you’re doin’ with those blokes, Enzo. But don’t make waves bigger than you. Not now.”

     Enzo was honestly speechless. Eli had just delivered the equivalent of an entire Parliamentary address for him. The sentiments were also unexpected.

     Eli prompted him. “Alright?”  

     “Y-yeah. I got it, Eli.”

     Eli beckoned him down and Enzo slid off the bunk, his bare feet hardly hitting the cold concrete before the other man pulled him into a strong one-armed hug.

     Hesitant for just a second, Enzo put his arm around the other inmate in return. Eli grunted and gave him an affectionate shake before standing up to tower once more over the shorter boy.

     “Make good,” was all Eli said before leaving the cell.

     Seeing Eli leave, Johnny came back in. “Everything alright, kiddo?”

     “Yeah,” Enzo nodded. “Just gotta go find Frankie.”

     “Yeah? Let’s go then. Dinner’s in a bit. He’ll be takin’ boss’s dinner down.”

     Leaving the cell together, neither of them saw Alfie down in the shadows of the far stairwell with Bashkim.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, there's Enzo's backbone. I bet Big Eli's hugs are the best. As always, thank you to each and every one of you readers! Work and uni have been absolutely brutal lately, but I do mean to finish this slowly and I do have a plan for the rest of this~ I think my biggest pet peeve in all literature, published or amateur, 'romantic' or regular, is the lack of character development and realistic timeline. I think I want things to be action or rated adult 24/7, but actually, I appreciate realistic presentation much more. I hope most of you are in agreement with me on that and that you'll stay with me on this journey :) 
> 
> A 'grass' is a snitch or backstabber.
> 
> Big Eli hugs you warmly for reading this far and for any comments/kudos you might leave :)


	8. Realisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies~ Fair warning, this is a rather explicit chapter of lovin'. If you'd rather skip, this is basically Luca having a massive realisation about how he feels about Enzo. Because he's an emotionally stunted bear man.

     There were only a few reasons Montie Pellio’s mobile rang in the rudely early hours of the morning, none of which were good but were usually just irritating business troubles. Hearing Luca’s distorted gravelly tones at two in the morning was terrifying. Luca’s almost calm drawl made it all the more so.    

      _“So where’s yer famous fuckin’ Danio Giovanetti, boss?’Cause I got Enzo tellin’ me 'e's down in fuckin’ solitary and not lookin’ out for me fuckin’ boy.”_

What? Shit, shit, shit. Fuck. Montie had never been alert faster, adrenaline driving the last of sleep from his head. He cursed Giovanetti to hell and back as he scrambled to find the words to pacify Luca, who was clearly barely holding it together in his rage. “Luca, let’s be calm for a mo’, alright? This is the first I’m ‘earin’ bout this, but I’m sure it’s nothin’ serious. Giovanetti’ll be back soon.”

      _“Really? ‘Cause from wot it sounds like, Giovanetti went and got some poor sod killed off._ ” There was the low background hum of traffic. Was Luca driving? Coming to get him? _“That don’t fuckin’ sound like 'e’s gon’ be back ‘soon’. Sounds like a whole lotta unprotected Enzo to me, donnit.”_

Montie sat up and started getting dressed with one hand. “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that, Luca, alright? I’m gon’ talk to Arlo Taglieri right now, ‘e’s Giovanetti’s boss. I’ll figure this mess out, alright? Just stay calm.”

     When he was only met with silence against the background noise of what Montie was almost definitively sure was traffic, he said, attempting to sound casual, “Where you ‘eadin’, Luca?”

      _“Dunno. That depends on you, donnit,”_ Luca said calmly. _“’m jus’ drivin’ ‘round Newham right now. ‘ackney’s pretty close, though, innit.”_

Montie’s flat was in Hackney. The threat was more than clear, but the crime boss couldn’t afford to let Luca know just how rattled Montie was right now. Blood in front of a shark. “I’m 'avin’ Julie call Taglieri now. I’ll speak to ‘im and we’ll get this sorted. Go ‘ome, Luca, and I’ll let you know when I figure this shit out.” He forced himself to put a hint of authority in his voice, a bit of master-towards-dog tone. He held his breath, praying that Luca would listen.

      _“…Alright. Till mornin’.”_

     Montie felt his knees give out and he fell heavily on his bed in relief as soon as Luca hung up. If he wasn’t so relieved to still be breathing, he would’ve cursed himself for being so embarrassingly weak. He was among the biggest heads in the UK underworld. People were supposed to be afraid of _him_ , and yet here he was, shaking like a little bitch because of a phone call.

     Still shaking, he called Julie. His secretary picked up on the second ring.

      _“Julie Skinner.”_ Her voice was crisp and unruffled as if she hadn’t just been woken up at three in the morning, a longstanding mark of her professionalism that at any other time, Pellio would have appreciated more sincerely. Right now, however, he was literally fending off a monster.

     “Julie, it’s me. I need you to schedule an immediate meetin’ wit’ Arlo Taglieri right now. There’s been a fuckup wit' Enzo’s protection in Grey Hill.”

     Enzo was a favourite of Julie’s. As one of the few females in Montie Pellio’s organisation, she took an especially motherly interest in the boy. The only emotion Julie showed, however, was in a slight sharpening of her tone. _“Of course, Mr. Pellio. Will it be a public meeting or a private one?”_

“Private. It needs to ‘appen now and ain’t nowhere gon’ be open. ‘ave ‘im meet me at my pub on Kenton.”

      _“Very good, Mr. Pellio. I’ll ring him now.”_

     Julie hung up and Montie was left to wait and pray Luca’s name didn’t show up on the caller ID anytime soon. 

•••

     Luca didn’t go home when Montie said to. He rarely did anything Luca said outside of business or ‘red eyes’. Half an hour on the A13 later, Luca was driving through the red light district of Soho. Even at three in the morning, traffic in Soho was slow. It took another twenty minutes for Luca to reach Peter Street. He parked on the street and went through an entrance that was noticeably newer than its surroundings. Inside there was a second door that was locked and a small panel of buzzers for the flats above. He pressed the buzzer for flat 204.

      _“Hello?”_ A soft male voice answered uncertainly.

“Vittorio, ’s me.”

     There was a muffled thump as if something had been dropped and a quiet curse. _“Luca? That you?”_

     “Yeah. Can I come up?”

      _“S-sure. One sec….”_

     There was a loud buzzing as the security door unlocked and Luca let himself in. He quickly climbed the two flights of tasteful glass and metal stairs and came out into a corridor lined with a carpet so plush it completely absorbed the sound of his footsteps.

     Flat 204 was at the end of the corridor near the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the streets of Soho. The door was quality stained hardwood with a core of steel that thudded dully when Luca rapped his knuckles against it.

     There was quiet shuffling on the other side of the door and a flash of an eye at the peephole before Luca heard the rasp of a chain being taken down and the clack of a deadbolt. The door opened and a slender young man with tied up dark hair that shone wine red in the light of the corridor and doe-like brown eyes looked up at him. He was wearing an oversized jumper that fell to mid-thigh over running leggings and a welcoming smile.

     “Hi, Luca. I was jus’ makin’ dinner if you wanna join me.”

     Luca silently stepped into the flat and respectfully toed off his shoes by the doormat. Vittorio took his jacket and hung it neatly on the hooks by the door. They were shaped like little kitten tails.

     “I wasn’t expectin’ clients tonight,” Vittorio explained as he led the way back to the kitchen, waving his hand at the slight disorder in the sitting area. “’s bit of a mess.”

     “Yer hurt?” Luca said, ignoring the ‘mess’. A few scattered _Attitude_ magazines, a bowl with the burnt remnants of a smoke session in it, and a half-empty tea cup on the glass coffee table hardly counted as a ‘mess’. Vittorio looked down at where Luca was eyeing and laughed ruefully.

     “Hardly,” he said, fingering the plaster on his arm. “Berry just scratched me. The buzzer startled her.”

     “Sorry.”

     “Don’t be,” Vittorio said dismissively, gesturing for Luca to sit down at the breakfast bar. “Cuppa?”

     “Sure.”

     Watching the younger man bustle about putting the electric kettle on and setting up two mugs with two teaspoons of loose leaf each, Luca said, “Sorry ‘bout comin’ on your night off. Should’ve called.”

     “Sweetheart, if I didn’t want you here, would I have let you up?” Vittorio stirred something that smelled delicious on the cooktop and checked on something in the oven. The kettle burbled and beeped. He poured the hot water over the tea leaves and stirred them around a bit. After a couple minutes, he dipped the leaves out and added a splash of milk to one before sliding it across to Luca, who nodded his thanks. “Despite my occupation, I do still have the ability to make decisions of my own, y’know,” Vittorio smiled.

     Adding a generous pour of milk to his own mug and a heaping spoonful of sugar, Vittorio took a sip before turning back to the stove. “Let me finish cookin’ and then you’re gon’ tell me why I’ve got you sittin’ in my flat lookin’ like someone ran your puppy over.”

     “’ow’s work been lately?” Luca said, changing the subject temporarily. A meowing at his feet made him look down. Berry pawed at his leg and he picked up the white and grey cat to settle on his lap. He stroked her head absentmindedly.

     “S’alright, innit. I’ve got eight clients now, though, instead of nine. Had to terminate the fucker’s contract. Y’know he tried to pull some of that pissin’ watersports bollocks with me? The fuckin’ _nerve_. He’s lucky I didn’t cut his fuckin’ dick off right there for pissin’ all over me. 1500-thread count Egyptian cotton and he pisses on it like the classless fuckn’ Neanderthal he is.” Vittorio slammed down the pot he was stirring for emphasis.

     Vittorio Miceli was a “high-class” escort for an agency with connections to Montie Pellio. That was how Luca met Vittorio. For a certain percentage, the agency vetted applicants attracted by the admittedly classy website before sending them Vittorio’s way to either be approved or rejected. Vittorio commanded such a high price for his contracts that the agency was very accommodating and allowed him a great deal of leeway when it came to accepting or rejecting potential clients. For a generous price, Vittorio played date, lover, and friend to his clients. His sweet nature and relative flexibility when it came to intimate situations made him very popular amongst applicants but he was rather choosy when picking his clients. Not just any john off the street would do, and not everyone could afford Vittorio’s prices.

     Luca and Vittorio had more of an unspoken agreement that was based on their mutual genuine enjoyment of each other’s company. Luca would lend his name and protection to Vittorio, whose home and bed were always more than welcome to the hit-man. Luca also brought him expensive gifts from time to time; things he saw that he thought would make the escort’s home prettier or would flatter his appearance. Price was never a problem. Luca had money to burn and hardly anyone to spend it on. Especially since Enzo was sent down.

     “Should I kill ‘im?” Luca offered.

     Vittorio turned and looked at him thoughtfully. He suddenly laughed and came over to kiss the hit-man on the cheek. Vittorio wouldn’t say he had a ‘thing’ for Luca, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a genuine attraction to the older man. “You’re so funny sometimes,” he said fondly. “You always make it sound like you’re offerin’ to run and get milk or somethin’.”

     “’m serious, Vitt,” Luca said, catching the younger man’s hand gently as he started back towards the stove. “If ‘e’s gon’ be a problem….”

     “He already paid a pretty penny for violatin’ the contract terms, love,” Vittorio said, allowing Luca to draw him back and cage him within the loose circle of his arms. He brushed a strand of pale hair back from Luca’s forehead fussily. “Davey charged him a quarter mil’ as per the fine print and he put the word out to the other agencies.”

     Luca grunted, not convinced the john had been dealt with thoroughly enoughly. Vittorio frowned and poked the older man’s nose gently. “Don’t be botherin’ Davey to tell you the fucker’s info now, Luca. You can’t jus’ kill everyone who’s a problem.”

     He sounded so much like Enzo.

     Luca just grunted again. Vittorio gave him a kiss on the lips this time, a quick one, and tugged himself free gently. “Dinner’s ‘bout ready. ‘s your turn to talk, then.”

     As the escort was putting zucchini noodles and puttanesca sauce on two plates, Luca commented, “You should stop eatin’ dinner like this.”

     Vittorio shrugged. He took out the baked “chicken parm” from the oven and put a piece on each plate. The chicken lacked the frying or breading the dish usually required and was more roasted than anything. He threw some cheese on top and got a bottle of wine out of the small cooled wine rack for himself and a can of Stella for Luca. “Work’s made me have a weird schedule, love. Sleep durin’ the day, awake at night.” He set the spaghetti and lager down in front of Luca and sat next to him. “Why, you think I’m gettin’ fat?” He looked sideways at Luca, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

     “No, no, no, I don’t,” Luca said quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way, Vitt. Jus’….’s probably not ‘ealthy, ‘s all.”

     Vittorio laughed and patted Luca on the shoulder. “’m jus’ fuckin’ wit’ you, love. Eat,” he commanded, jabbing his fork at Luca’s plate. Luca obediently started eating.

     The food was delicious, as always. The escort did have to be careful about what he ate. Carbs were a luxury and sweets were saved for desserts on dates with his clients, but Vittorio still managed to make his carb-less meals taste good. Luca had long gotten used to zucchini spaghetti, low-fat chicken parmesans, and more diet-friendly versions of Italian home cooking. God knew his own diet was far from coming even close to being healthy. He still wasn’t a fan of quinoa, though.

     “So,” Vittorio said, patting delicately at a spot of sauce on his mouth after swallowing a not-so-delicate mouthful of spaghetti. He took a long swallow of wine. Elegant manners were for dates, fuck ‘em at home. “Why do I have you sittin’ in my kitchen at—” he looked at the clock above the stove, “—nearly five in the mornin’ eatin’ my food?”

     Luca didn’t say anything for a while and just ate. The taste had gone out of the food, though, and he was just eating for something to do and to avoid offending Vittorio’s cooking. It was a shame, too, because no one made puttanesca sauce like Vittorio did. Vittorio didn’t press him and ate in companionable silence, knowing that Luca would eventually talk.

     Finally, Luca admitted lowly, “’m worried.”

     Vittorio refilled his glass generously. The wine was an absolutely lovely 1999 Château Lafite Rothschild that had been a gift from a client. If it weren’t for his clients, though, Vittorio would have no idea how to even begin to choose wine. Working class born and bred. Everything he knew about wine came from the Internet. This particular vintage from 1999 went for £420 a bottle and he was downing it like it was Barefoot moscato.

     “Clearly,” he said over the rim of his glass. “What’re you worried ‘bout? Or…” he reconsidered, looking at Luca critically. “Should I say, ‘who are you worried ‘bout’?”

     “’m worried ‘bout Enzo,” the hit-man finally admitted.

     Vittorio hummed. “I should’ve guessed that one, huh. Poor darlin’s still in the cage, innit he.” Seeing Luca had finished his Stella, Vittorio got up to get him another. “Something bad happen, love?” he asked gently, handing the lager to Luca.

     “’e’s not protected right now,” Luca muttered. He accepted the lager appreciatively and downed half of it at once. “The motherfucker supposed to be lookin’ out for Enzo got ‘imself sent to solitary. Enzo jus’ told me ‘bout it couple ‘a days ago, but ‘e’s been alone for more than three weeks now. Pellio said ‘e’s gon’ meet wit’ the bastard’s boss but dunno wot the fuck ‘m supposed to do ‘sides wait.”

     There the slightest uptake in Luca’s voice at the end, so slight that if Vittorio hadn’t been a professional conversationalist (amongst other things) as well as a good friend, he would have missed it altogether. He was also a tactful self-preservationist, so rather than mentioning the crack in tone, Vittorio simply slid his hand into Luca’s and let the older man interpret the gesture as he would.

     “Enzo was fine when you talked to him, though, weren’t he?” Vittorio reminded him softly. “Done been three weeks, innit, but he still callin’ you fine, innit he? I’ve never met the darlin’ but you always tellin’ me ‘bout him and he sounds harder than you give him credit for, love.”

     Luca just shook his head and finished off his Stella. Vittorio took it and their empty plates to the sink. He corked the bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild and put it back in the cooler. Taking Luca’s hand, the escort tugged the other man gently to the couches in the sitting area. Urging him to sit down with gentle pressure on his shoulders, Vittorio slid down to straddle his lap gracefully.

     “Did Pellio say when he was gon’ call you?” he asked Luca. He ran his fingers through the silvery blonde strands soothingly, as if he were calming a wild beast.

     “No.... Jus’ that ‘e was meetin’ wit’ Arlo Taglieri right now.”

     “Then there’s no point in frettin’, is there, love? Pellio’ll sort it, don’t you worry, alright….” Vittorio trailed off, his words ending softly against the press of Luca’s lips.

     At first, Luca was unresponsive, his lips still against Vittorio’s. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he surged to life beneath Vittorio. Caging the younger man in with a thick arm around him and cradling the back of his head with the other hand, Luca turned Vittorio’s sweet kiss demanding and almost desperate. Vittorio moaned at the sudden forcefulness and obediently opened his mouth to let Luca’s tongue thrust in gently. He could feel himself hardening in his leggings and knew Luca could feel it too when the older man smirked against his lips.

     “You like that, love?” Luca murmured against his lips, his hand coming down to brush lightly over Vittorio’s hardening front. The escort whimpered, the thin material of the leggings allowing him to feel everything of the teasing touch. “Yeah?” he whispered, mouthing at the taut arch of the younger man’s neck, stroking him more firmly. “Gon’ come in your pants?”

     Vittoro shook his head frantically, whimpering. “W-want you in me w-when—”

     “Yeah? When wot?” Luca said, biting and sucking a vivid mark in Vittorio’s neck. His other hand, which had been supporting Vittorio, slid up beneath his jumper to thumb over a peaked nipple. Vittorio gasped and his hips stuttered into Luca’s hand.

     “W-when I c-come,” Vittorio gasped, a slight blush staining his face in embarrassment at the words.

     Luca kissed his throat. “Fuckin’ love that ‘bout ya, Vitt. Been wit’ so many blokes and still as cute and shy as a blushin’ virgin.”

     Vittorio just smiled bashfully at him. Kissing him again, Luca tugged at the top of Vittorio’s leggings. Getting the hint, Vittorio stood up and gracefully tugged off the close-fitting leggings and his pants in one motion before settling atop Luca again in just his baggy jumper. A strand of wine red hair had come loose and had fallen over his forehead. Luca tucked it behind his ear and kissed his nose.

     “Fuckin’ adorable, Vitt, y’know that?”

     “So you keep tellin’ me,” Vittorio smiled. He plucked at the black Henley Luca was wearing. “Off?” he asked softly. Grunting, Luca tugged the shirt up over his head and tossed it carelessly on the floor, muscles rippling powerfully beneath his skin. Running a delicate hand over Luca’s heavily muscled shoulders, Vittorio leaned in and started kissing and kitten-licking his way across and down the older man’s front.

     When he couldn’t bend down any further, Vittorio slid off Luca’s lap to rest on his knees on the plush llama throw lining the floor. Looking up at Luca through his lashes, a shy smile playing around his mouth, Vittorio slowly pulled the older man’s zip down with his teeth.

     “Fuckin’ hell, look at you,” Luca growled, helping Vittorio by taking himself out. Stroking himself a couple times, he held himself steady and let the younger man take him down at his own pace.

     Vittorio lapped at the head, warming himself up, before opening his mouth and slowly sliding his mouth down over Luca’s length. Luca was thick enough that it strained his jaw slightly and long enough that the head bumped against the back of his throat well before he reached the base. Taking a breath through his nose, eyes watering tears that Luca brushed away gently, Vittorio relaxed his throat and took the hit-man down to the root. Luca groaned at the sight. He slid his hand over the younger man’s tied back hair and cupped his face, making him look up at him.

     “Alright, love?”

     Vittorio nodded shallowly and pulled back a bit, pressing his tongue firmly up against the underside of Luca’s cock. Pushing back down again, Vittorio set up a fast pace that completely clashed with the sweetly submissive picture he made. Grunting, Luca did his best to refrain from thrusting into the escort’s mouth and choking him and just rested his hand on Vittorio’s head.

     When he felt himself getting close, Luca pulled Vittorio off. “Enough,” he growled. His cock twitched at the sight of Vittorio’s red, swollen lips and the dazed expression on his face. He shoved his jeans and pants off to join his shirt on the floor and his cock slapped wetly against his stomach. “Get up 'ere.”

     Standing on trembling legs, Vittorio was tugged back onto the older man’s lap. He moaned in surprise when his now achingly hard cock brushed against Luca’s. Luca drew him down for another kiss. He heard the snap of a bottle opening before slick fingers brushed between his arse cheeks. They were cold and he yelped into Luca’s mouth, jerking away in surprise. Shushing him and bringing their lips back together again, Luca slowly slid one finger into him, swallowing his moan.

     By the time Luca had him opened up on three fingers, Vittorio was a whimpering, writhing mess. His hair had long since come free of its tie and short wine red waves fell about his face beautifully.

     “L-Luca, please….” Vittorio moaned. His moan ended on a high note when Luca found his prostate and stroked firmly over it. “’m gon’ come….”

     Luca withdrew his fingers, leaving Vittorio empty and clenching around nothing. “Shh,” Luca soothed him, stroking his trembling back. The massive jumper had slid down one shoulder, making Vittorio look sweetly vulnerable and Luca a cradle robber.

     “You alright, love?” Luca asked, still rubbing the younger man’s back. Nodding, Vittorio rearranged himself and slowly started pushing down onto Luca’s cock. His mouth fell open helplessly as the thick length forced its way past the initial resistance and a breathy whine left his throat. Bit by bit, Vittorio eased himself down, Luca soothing him with kisses and touches the whole way until he was fully sitting on the hit-man’s lap again.

     Burying his face in Luca’s neck as he breathed heavily and tried to relax around the intrusion inside him, Vittorio pressed affectionately into the comforting pressure of Luca’s hand. After a minute, Vittorio nodded into the hit-man’s neck. “You can move,” he whispered.

     Grunting, Luca shifted so that he had a bit of room to move and withdrew nearly all the way before snapping his hips up again, making Vittorio cry out sharply. He quickly set a sharp pace that had the escort crying out breathily with every thrust, each thrust nailing his prostate and making him shudder.

     In no time at all, Vittorio felt himself getting close and he whimpered a warning to Luca, who only sped up until Vittorio was crying and coming in short spurts all over them. Luca fucked him through his orgasm until he was whimpering, oversensitive. Groaning at the way Vittorio kept clenching in helpless rhythm around him, Luca quickly pulled out to come all over the younger man’s thighs. “Fuck, En—”

     Breathing heavily through the aftershocks of his orgasm, Vittorio mouthed sloppily at Luca’s lips until he got the request and kissed him.

     “You’re amazin’, love, always fuckin’ gorgeous,” he said.

     “Mm,” Vittorio smiled sleepily. He shifted about until he could curl against Luca’s chest, uncaring of their come all over his thighs. Luca instinctively put an arm around him. “You gon’ stay?”

     “Maybe a lit—”

     A chirp from the pile of Luca’s jeans on the floor interrupted him. Ruffling Vittorio’s hair in apology before shifting him out of the way, Luca leaned down and snagged his jeans. Finding his mobile in the pocket, Luca opened the SMS.

     “What is it, love?” Vittorio said, seeing how Luca’s expression had suddenly become closed off.

     “Jus’ Julie. Tellin’ me Pellio and Taglieri jus’ met at the spot.”

     Vittorio hummed in acknowledgement. He got up with a slight wince and disappeared into his bedroom, coming out a couple minutes later with his hair up again and wearing a clean hoodie. He had a warm washcloth for Luca. While Luca cleaned himself up, Vittorio got himself a Stella and Luca a cup of tea.

     “Not if you’re plannin’ on dashin’ off and drivin’,” Vittorio said sternly in response when Luca raised an eyebrow at not being handed a Stella as well. Settling down next to Luca, he nursed his lager and watched Luca stare at his mobile as if willing it to ring with news, any news at all.

     “Are you gon’ tell him?” Vittorio finally said, gently breaking the silence.

     “Wot?” Luca turned to look at him.

     “Are you gon’ tell him,” Vittorio repeated patiently. “Enzo.”

     “Tell ‘im wot?”

     There was just the slightest caution in Luca’s voice, an uncertainty.

     “That it’s him you’ve got the marshmallow fuckin’ heart for,” Vittorio said bluntly, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

     Luca stared at him for a moment, clearly dumbfounded with vehement denial teetering on the tip of his tongue.

     Vittoria resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Oh, don’t even try to deny it, love, it couldn’t be more obvious even if I hadn’t seen the darlin’s photo on your phone and realised he was the spittin' image of me.”

     Luca opened his mouth to talk but Vittorio cut him off, anticipating what he was going to say. “Oh, don’t worry, love, I ain’t mad at you for makin’ me the little darlin’s substitute, even if you didn’t realise it yourself,” he smiled. “Ain’t that what me job is? Fulfillin’ people’s fantasies? ‘sides,” he patted Luca’s arm reassuringly. “I do enjoy your company and my home’s always open to you.”

     Luca’s face was working as he tried to find the words to say what he needed to say. Vittorio’s smile turned wicked. “If you need a bit more proof that you’ve got it real fuckin’ bad, you said his name when you—” Vittorio gestured obscenely.

     “Fuckin’ hell….” Luca rubbed his eyes heavily. “Maybe yer right….”

     “I _know_ I’m right,” Vittorio said primly.

     “Fuck…. Wot do I fuckin’ do, Vitt,” Luca said, hunching over and burying his face in his hands. “I found ‘im when ‘e was a _kid_ , Vitt. Wot if ‘e don’t see me like that? Wot if it freaks ‘im out? Don’t even know if ‘e goes that way, either.”

     Vittorio snorted. “Do you _really_ think Enzo would push you away if he didn’t see you like that? Enzo don’t sound like the type to get freaked if a man’s pinin’ over him. If he don’t see you like that, you really gon’ abandon him?”

     “No,” Luca said, sounding surprised at the idea. “’course not.”

     “There you go,” Vittoria said, finishing his Stella. “’s not the end of the world. Tell him. If it works out, lovely, send me an invite to the weddin’. Make sure it’s open bar. If it don’t, if Enzo’s a straight bloke or he jus’ don’t see you like that, things go on like before. Life really ain’t that fuckin’ hard, Luca. Some men….” Vittorio rolled his eyes.

     Luca just shook his head and messed his hair roughly in frustration. “Gotta focus on gettin’ ‘im out first. I’ll fuckin’ kill Pellio if ‘e fucks up and everything goes south.”

     Luca’s mobile chirped again and the little envelope bounced on the screen. Flicking open the message, Luca read quickly. He stood up and started tugging on his shirt.  “Sorry, gotta go. Julie says Pellio wants me to show up. Power show or some bollocks.

     Vittorio helped straighten out his jeans and pants. “Sounds like MP’s puttin’ pressure on Taglieri. ‘s progress, innit.”

     “Maybe,” Luca grunted, pulling on his jeans. Vittorio followed him to the door where he tugged on his shoes and jacket. As he was about to open the door, Luca stopped and turned back to look down at Vittorio.

     “What?” Vittorio looked up, bemused.

     “Was I too rough on ya?” Luca seemed genuinely concerned. “You was limpin’ a bit earlier.”

     “Oh,” the younger man smiled, touched. “’m fine, Luca. You’re so sweet. You’re a gent compared to some of my clients. Don’t—” he held up a warning finger when Luca started to ask ‘who’. “Go on, get goin’,” he pushed Luca gently. “Go get your princess,” he called as he shut the door. He laughed when he heard Luca’s indignant snort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an incredibly self-indulgent chapter that somewhat redeems itself in value because I feel it gives another dimension to Luca the killing machine. He's also a surprisingly considerate lover.... Darling Vittorio probably won't make many more appearances because he's served his purpose in helping Luca realise just how he feels about Enzo. I do like him, though....  
> There will be politics and bloody manouevres coming up. 
> 
> Heehee, puttanesca sauce....
> 
> Vittorio gives you all his recipes for reading this far and a glass of Château Lafite Rothschild for any feedback you might leave, whether it be kudos, comments, or subscriptions :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up where I left off 2 years ago, Luca crashes in on a meeting between his boss, Montie Pellio, and a subordinate Family Head, Arlo Taglieri. Tempers are boiling over unkept bargains on more than one side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, hi, it's been over 2 years. I'm always astounded that anyone, no matter how few, even looks at this little old thing. I'm finally done with uni, got a bit of down time now so I thought I'd try to write again...I'm a bit rusty, but I'm trying to get back on it while I've got the time. I have so many ideas but not sure if I'll have time...we'll see. Thank you for those who've stopped by and who've liked it enough to follow :)

     The Blue Lion was an old Kenton establishment built in the 1960s that had been passed down from father to son for several generations. When the last son had run into money troubles because he drank more than he drew for paying patrons, he had gone to Montie Pellio for a loan.

     Going to a known Mafioso for a loan isn’t like going to the bank or to the credit unions. Criminals don’t care about credit history or inquire about your current income to see if you can make the payments on time every month. The Mafia loves desperate borrowers because they’ll keep coming back for more money. They’ll get it, too, with higher and higher interest until the shark finally cuts them off and starts pressuring them for the money. The Mafioso will squeeze them dry and take them for everything they’ve got. Montie Pellio wasn’t any different.

      When the pub owner had started not being able to make the payments, Montie had sent Luca after him and his family. The wife had been able to scrape together enough money from her parents to keep herself and their little son safe and they had fled to Spain. The husband, on the other hand, had been found floating in a nearby river, his eyes blooming red and dark purple contusions around his neck from a garrotte. The majority of his organs had been missing as well.

     The police had been very interested in the circumstances under which the deed to the pub had fallen into Montie Pellio’s hands. The purchase of the pub had been very legitimate and above board. The Family lawyer had had the unfortunate man sign over the deed the day before he had been killed. The Family had even paid the real estate tax. Montie wasn’t stupid, though. All transactions to Luca had been done in cold cash laundered through several business fronts and they were never done in person. A different lackey had a homeless junkie deliver the money in an envelope each time in exchange for a fix of their poison of choice. With a lack of evidence outside of suspicious coincidence, an inability to get any watertight evidence or information from one junkie delivery boy they had managed to track down, and only silence in response to their plea for any eyewitnesses, however, the police were unable to prove that Montie Pellio had indeed ordered the hit on the late pub owner.

     Ever the opportunistic businessman, Pellio had realised the potential for the old pub to be a money machine. As far-reaching as he had managed to stretch his empire, however, the underworld lord had no illusions as to his abilities to personally run a pub. Instead, he had assigned a young man from among his ranks named Jimmy Rich to run the place. Jimmy had experience and passion in creating special micro-brews and his custom draft brews soon turned The Blue Lion into one of the most popular pubs in London.

     At five in the morning, however, The Blue Lion was dark and the doors were locked. Jimmy, bleary-eyed and wearing a ratty old hoodie hastily thrown over his sleep bottoms, met Montie Pellio at the door with the key. Montie had rung him up first, then sent someone to bang on his door when the barkeep didn’t pick up after several calls.

     “Sorry you ‘ad to send someone, boss. Me missus’s at her mum’s, otherwise she woulda gotten me up. She says a fuckin’ canon through the window wouldn’t wake me up,” Jimmy said apologetically. “Everythin’ alright, boss?” He opened the door for the Mafia boss.

     “S’fine, Jimmy,” Montie said shortly. He told himself silently that he needed the young man to run his pub and that he couldn’t afford to shoot him out of pure annoyance. Jimmy followed him in to the dark pub, blissfully unaware.

     “Can we get some fuckin’ light in ‘ere or somethin’?” Montie snapped irritably.

     “Sorry, boss.” Jimmy hastily flipped on a couple lights.

     “Do you know Arlo Taglieri?” Montie made his way behind to the bar where the ledgers were. He pulled open the most recent one and ran his finger down the current page of numbers. Jimmy breathed an internal sigh of relief when Montie nodded, satisfied, and replaced the ledger beneath the counter.

    “Don’t know ‘im personally, but I know ‘is face.”

    “Good enough. ‘e’s gon’ be showin’ up ‘ere in a bit. I want you to stay ‘ere and let him up when ‘e comes.”

    “Alright, boss,” Jimmy said agreeably. He struggled to stifle a yawn and failed.

    “Go on ‘ome after you let ‘im in,” Montie said, noticing. “Don’t worry ‘bout lockin’ up. Gimme the key now and I’ll lock up afterwards. You need a ride ‘ome or somethin’?”

    Jimmy gratefully gave him the keyring. “Yeah.”

    “Davey’s waitin’ outside. Ask ‘im to take you wherever you need to go.”

    “Thank, boss. You want me to get you a drink or somethin’? The new draft jus’ came in. ‘S a bit of a spicy one, got a nice caramel flavour. S’not too strong, though.”

    Montie nodded after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll be upstairs.”

 

    Jimmy came up the stairs a couple minutes later carefully holding a brimming pint glass, the head of creamy white foam just threatening to spill over. Montie was sitting over at one of the tables near the pool tables and was reading a message on his phone. A hanging light overhead cast a circular pool of light on the table.

    “Cheers, Jimmy,” Montie said without looking up from his mobile when the young man set the glass down.

    “I’ll send Taglieri on up when ‘e gets ‘ere, yeah?” Jimmy said. Montie grunted and Jimmy went downstairs to wait.

    A few minutes later, there was the noise of the door opening downstairs and the quiet murmuring of voices. Hearing the thud of footsteps on the stairs, Montie resettled himself more comfortably in his chair and opened a message one of his bookies had just sent him.

    “—get you anything, Mr. Taglieri?”

    “No, thanks,” Arlo Taglieri replied to Jimmy as they came to the top of the stairs. Montie looked up, the motion deliberately casual.

    “Arlo Taglieri. ‘ave a seat.” Montie turned his attention to his barkeep. “Go on ‘ome, Jimmy.”

    Nodding his thanks, Jimmy quickly got out of there, more than happy to leave the suddenly tense atmosphere.

    “Please, Mr. Taglieri,” Montie said, looking back at the other man. He laid his phone down on the table and gestured to the chair across from his own. Taglieri, his face carefully composed, sat down.

     The leader of a smaller and younger Family that answered to Montie Pellio’s, Arlo Taglieri was no stranger to tense meetings with the Mafia kingpin. This was the first meeting that he knew the exact reason he was seated across from the notorious crime boss beforehand, however.

     “Mr. Pellio, I jus’ want you to know that I understand why I’m ‘ere and—”

    “D’ya, Taglieri? D’ya really, though?” Montie cut in, bluntly dropping any formality. Taglieri fought down his instinct to flinch back at the sudden fury in the other man’s voice. “You promised me that your man Giovanetti would look after Enzo Lucelli and that ‘e’d protect ‘im. In exchange, I stopped pressurin’ you on that money you owe me as a sign of appreciation. Nearly ‘alf a million quid, and this is what I get in return? A fucked over protection deal for me boy?” Montie snarled.

    “I understand that, Mr. Pellio, and I understand your anger, I really do,” Taglieri said pleadingly. “Believe me when I say I didn’t know Giovanetti would kick off like that. I ‘ad nothin’ to do wit’ that.”

    “That don’t matter, Taglieri! What matters is you wasn’t able to keep your end of the deal and now I got Luca breathin’ down me neck ‘bout it!” Montie shouted, slamming his fist down on the table.

    “Arrigoni?” Taglieri said sharply, his face paling slightly. “What’s ‘e got to do wit’ it?”

    “Everythin’,” Luca’s rumbling bass came up the stairs.

     Taglieri felt the blood drain from his face at that all too familiar voice. Both men quieted as Luca’s heavy footsteps came closer and tensed as the notorious hit-man approached the table. Montie Pellio felt a moment of uncertainty when he couldn’t predict where Luca would stand. He forced himself not to visibly relax when Luca dragged up a chair and sat down just behind him, symbolically backing him up. For now.

    “I’ve got everythin’ to do wit’ it,” Luca said calmly. “But all you need to know is if me boy Enzo gets ‘urt in any way because of this fuckup, I’m comin’ after everyone I think is involved. Startin’ wit’ you, Taglieri.”

     Something, a strange mix of fear and realisation, instantly flickered across Taglieri’s face before it smoothed over again. Montie, too caught up in silently finishing the unspoken part of Luca’s threat – _you too, Pellio_ —missed the change but Luca, sharp-eyed as always, caught it. He didn’t say anything, however, and instead, drew a brown envelope from his jacket pocket.

    “’appened to drive by your place, Taglieri,” Luca said casually. He turned the envelope over in his hands. Taglieri stiffened at the thinly veiled threat; his house was nowhere near Kenton or Hackney and he made it a point not to make his address known.

    “Found this on the step.” Luca tossed the envelope on the table. It had already been slit open. There was no postage stamp or return address on the front, just a stylised double-headed eagle stamped in black ink.

    “Besnik Demisovski.” Luca dragged the name out, each syllable almost playful. It took everything Montie Pellio had not to shift his chair further away and reveal just how fucking terrifying he thought that tone was.

    “’ead of the biggest Albanian gang in the UK. Practically the ‘ead of the entire Albanian crime network,” Luca said calmly, watching Taglieri open the envelope and then tip it upside down to dump the contents out on the table. Much to Taglieri’s apparent confusion, three black feathers floated down. “Eagle feathers.”

    “Means Demisovski’s declared war on you,” Montie explained, his face troubled.

    “On _me_?” the other Family leader said in disbelief, the envelope falling from his hand. “The fuck for?”

    “Your boy Giovanetti done went and got ‘is wife’s best friend’s ‘usband killed, that’s what ‘the fuck for’, mate.” Montie slid a photo across to Taglieri. It was a mugshot of a dark-haired man with a gold chain around his neck holding a booking card that had GJON, CORBAJRAM and a serial number typeset on it. He slid two more photos across to the other man.

    Taglieri picked up the first one. It was the pale ghost of the man in the mugshot, his face mostly obscured by an oxygen mask and his entire torso covered in white bandages, spreading blotches of dark blood seeping through.

    “That one was taken inside the prison hospital,” Montie said casually. “Shank wounds all over his stomach. They had to send ’im on to an outside ‘ospital.”

    Taglieri picked up the other photo. Harsh lighting made the body look ghoulish, the skin mottled black and blue around the now dry stab wounds made uglier with black stitches.

     “And _that_ one is the morgue photo. Died of sepsis in the end. ‘pparently when your lower guts get pierced, literal shit can get in the blood and kill ya.”

    “Jesus Christ,” Taglieri said faintly, setting the photos down. “And Demisovski’s declared war because of this….” He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “The fuck we gon’ do….”

    “‘ _We’_?” Montie snorted derisively. “More like _you_. This is your problem, mate. ”

     “Better figure out jus’ wot you’re gon’ do, mate, and fast,” Luca said menacingly. His voice was shockingly calm but it was his eyes that frightened Taglieri the most. They were twin pools of murderous hatred completely devoid of any humanity. And they were currently directed at him.

     “Because of _your_ inability to fuckin’ control _your_ own men, _Enzo Lucelli_ is at risk now. That name may mean fuck all to you outside of knowin’ that’s the name of the lad I made a deal wit’ you to protect,” Montie said. “But if ‘e’s ‘urt in any way ‘cause of this, I can personally guarantee you’ll wish you was dead.” He glanced at Luca, who looked like he wanted to rip Taglieri limb from limb right then and there. _Because I’ll be running for my life, too, and I just have to make sure I’m faster than you_.

     At that moment, Taglieri’s phone chirped at the same time Pellio’s did. Eyebrows raised, both men reached for their phones.

     “What?” Montie snapped, answering. Across from him, Taglieri answered his phone quietly, turning slightly away.

     Montie listened for a few minutes, Luca watching him impassively. “…You sure? …Alright, alright, Sal, jus’ fuckin’ take care of it,” he said just as the man across from him paled even more.

     Ending the call, Montie’s expression took on a decidedly frigid cast that made a decidedly paler looking Taglieri want to sink through the floor. “I assume you got the same call as me, Taglieri?” the Mafioso said coldly, noting the other man’s expression. “About the shipment?”

     “Yes,” Taglieri said faintly. “Demisovski’s men…destroyed the entire shipment of heroin.”

     “Yeah. Nearly a million fuckin’ quid worth of the stuff that I was relyin’ on you to sort out. GONE,” Montie roared, slamming his fist down on the table. Taglieri jerked back despite himself. “Your incompetence has found itself being increasingly ‘ighlighted to me, Taglieri, and I’m wondering if I actually ‘ave any use left for you.”

     Standing up sharply so that his chair fell over loudly, Montie shoved away from the table to pace angrily. The heroin shipment had been extremely difficult to get into the country especially because of its large size and because of the PM’s new crackdown campaign against narcotics. Even the customs officials he had in his pocket had been nervous about looking the other way. Although the shipment had gone through Taglieri for the purpose of distancing Montie and his Family from it in case things went sour, he had had to spend extra money just ensuring that Taglieri’s people would receive the shipment smoothly. Taglieri had also been in charge of storing and guarding the shipment at the warehouse until Montie was ready to distribute it.

     Past tense.

     Million fuckin’ quid down the drain.

     Cursing loudly, Montie kicked over a chair with a crash and threw another to smash against the wall. If Luca wasn’t so furious that the bastard responsible for putting Enzo in danger was sitting across from him, the hit-man would’ve found Taglieri’s expression amusing. The man looked downright ready to piss himself in fear.

     “Boss,” Luca said abruptly.

     Montie Pellio whipped around to look at Luca. The moment instinctual self-preservation saved him from snapping outright at Luca in his anger was obvious in the way his mouth tore open as if to yell and then quietly closed. He took a deep breath and the two men exchanged a look.

     A moment passed, the tension building until it finally broke. Sighing and nodding in resignation, Montie came back to the table and sat down. “Demisovski ain’t stupid. ‘e knew that shipment belonged to me, and that is what’s savin’ you, Taglieri. ‘e wanted to bring me into this mess ‘opin’ to get a shot at me territory and take you out at the same time.”

     Montie was absolutely gasping for a cigarette at the moment but his doctor had forced him to quit after he’d done miserably on his lung capacity test. The lurid images on the packets, fuckin’ decaying lungs and rottin’ teeth, were off-putting in their own rights as well. So instead, he unwrapped a hard candy and popped it in his mouth, crunching it brutally. “Listen carefully, Taglieri, ‘cause ‘m gon’ say this once. The _second_ Demisovski’s taken care of, we’re done. Whether or not you and your little gang leaves this alliance alive or in body bags is up to you. Sort yourself out, clean house if you got to. I don’t want any more fuckups.”

     The chair scraped harshly as Pellio stood up, the dismissal clear. As Taglieri was getting ready to bolt with whatever pride he had left, Luca said quietly, “One hair, Taglieri. If one fuckin’ _hair_ of Enzo’s is hurt, yer fuckin’ dead. All of you.”

     Trying hard not to sweat, the other man nodded quickly and left. His footsteps clattered down the steps hurriedly and the sound of the door slamming downstairs followed soon after. A tense silence descended around the two men left in the room. The proverbial goat in the tiger’s cage.

     It took just one look from Luca to reduce Montie to flustered explanations and reassurances. “I swear to fuckin’ God, Luca, I didn’t know Giovanetti was in solitary, alright? I only know what Enzo tells me, alright? ‘m tryin’ to rush the paperwork, I got the Family lawyer on it, she’s—” The words died in his throat as Luca moved suddenly and slammed his head onto the table, a knife pressing into the side of his neck.

     “I ‘ate yer fuckin’ voice,” Luca snarled viciously. “I fuckin’ ‘ate it. Always whinin’ wit’ some excuse or other. Never gettin’ shit properly sorted. ‘ow long’s it been? Over a month since you said you was processin’ paperwork? Two months now? I think you and yer fuckin’ lawyer need some proper motivation. Somethin’ to make the both of you fuckin’ sods dance. So,” Luca pressed a little harder with the blade, relishing the frightened grunt it brought out of Montie. “The both of you got three more days. Three more days to get the bloody paperwork in and for a parole board to be sorted to bring Enzo in for.”

     Montie made a garbled sound and Luca yanked his head up to slam it down again. “Oh shut up, Jus’ fuckin’ _shut it_ ‘fore I cut your bloody tongue out. ‘s not impossible. Yer the fuckin’ king of England’s underworld, ain’t ya? Always crowin’ ‘bout it. Finally use that money for something.”

     Luca straightened up, yanking on Montie’s hair to slam his head into the tabletop once more out of pure spite. “Three days. Or yer fuckin’ dead, Montie. Life debt or not. I’ll fuckin’ take you wit’ me.”

     Folding the knife back and shoving it in his pocket, Luca left without another glance back. His heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs, the bell above the door downstairs tinkled, and he was gone. Shaking uncontrollably in the following silence, Montie touched his neck and came away with a line of blood on his fingertips. The leash was off.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luca's flashback to when he met Enzo 8 years ago. Enzo was 11 at the time, and Luca was 21.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning to sprinkle in flashbacks to Enzo and Luca's time together growing up, so this is the first of several I have planned :)

_Eight Years Ago_

    It was one of those sunny days that London rarely ever sees. The weather was the perfect sort that encouraged people to relax and slow their walk as they went about their day. People’s moods were light and they felt free to look all around and appreciate their surroundings for once. There was no rain or blustery wind to push people along with their heads down and shoulders hunched against the chill.

     This was why in the back of Luca’s mind, he was faintly surprised that the kid he had passed three times now was still sitting slumped against the peeling doorway of a boarded-up shop. Clearly, regardless of the nice weather, nobody had bothered to stop and check in with the kid or offer assistance, despite blood smeared across half his face and a swelled eye. Across the street, Luca could see the kid’s narrow shoulders tremble every so often with his crying. He had a hoodie pulled up over his head but even so, any passer-by could clearly see that he was just a child. He was tiny.

    Shifting the heavy bag on his shoulder, Luca moved out of the path of pedestrian traffic and leaned against a wall. He wasn’t sure why he cared, but he found himself wanting to know if anybody at all would stop and help the brat. Call him bored. Pulling out his mobile as an excuse to pause, he sent off a quick reply to a contact about a scheduled job and checked his other messages. Occasionally, he would glance up at the poor kid across the street.

    When another half hour had passed and the kid was still sitting there pathetically, Luca decided he had had enough. He had an upcoming meeting with Pellio, the fucking bastard, and he had seen enough to reaffirm his conviction that people, including himself, were scum. He was about to head on back when he saw another kid, a bigger one, approach the one he’d been watching. The new boy seemed to be saying something to the kid that made him curl in even more upon himself. As Luca watched, the boy suddenly pulled back a fist and punched the already injured kid in the side of the head, knocking it hard into the doorjamb. Nobody stopped. If anything, they hurried on, not wanting to be involved.

    Luca still wasn’t sure why he cared so much about what happened to this one particular brat when there was fighting, beatings, murders, and worse happening all around him every minute of every day in his life. _He_ killed people for a living, for fuck’s sake. He lived alone in a two-bedroom home that his mother had left him. There were no kids in his life. The only kids were the ones on his street and they were nasty little things already in small time gangs. He hated kids. Still….

    Almost leisurely, Luca tucked his mobile back in his pocket and crossed the street. A car honked at him for suddenly appearing in the middle of the street and he stared them down, silently daring them to come out and confront him. They didn’t. Turning away dismissively, the hit-man stepped up on the kerb.

    “’s there a problem ‘ere, lads?” he said, looming over the boys. He directed the question to the aggressor, who had to be at least three or four years older than the little one and was a spotty, ugly little chav.

    The bully blanched at the sight of Luca towering over him, but to his credit, attempted to stand his ground. “Wot’s it to you, ya fuckin’ geezer? None of yer business, innit. Me an’ ‘im jus’ ‘avin’ a chat, _ain’t_ we.” He hit the beaten boy on the shoulder in what was probably meant to appear a friendly punch but came off threatening. The smaller boy cringed but didn’t say a word.

    “Really,” Luca said calmly. “Knock all yer mates’ ‘eads into fuckin’ walls, do ya?” Seeing how the boy was about to respond, he leaned in. “I suggest you go on ‘ome, ya little fuckin’ shit, ‘fore you get ‘urt. Ge’ it?” he said lowly, his tone threatening.

    “F-fuck off. ‘m gon’ tell me dad ‘bout you,” the boy stuttered angrily, taking a step back before running off.

     The threat hardly registered with Luca. He could take care of himself several times over, and Pellio’s reach extended far beyond London. Watching the bully flee didn’t really bring any sense of satisfaction to him, either. He’d done much worse, honestly.

     A quiet sniffle brought his attention back to the injured boy sitting on the step. “Oi. Alright there?” he asked, crouching down slowly.

     The kid flinched back slightly before nodding. “Uh-huh….”

     Luca suddenly felt like he was approaching a small, skittish animal. He held up his hands to show for once, he meant no harm. “Jus’ wanna ‘elp, kid, don’t worry. Wot’s yer name, laddie?”

     The kid sniffled again and rubbed a sleeve messily over his face, whimpering when he was reminded of his undoubtedly painful black eye. Luca automatically tugged his hand away with a “don’t”. “’m Enzo.”

     “Enzo?”

     The boy nodded.

     “ _Parli italiano, Enzo?”_

     Enzo looked up at him in surprise, other sleeve still firmly staunched over his good eye. “ _Si signor, un po.”_

     Luca didn’t exactly smile—people who knew him weren’t sure if he even could—but his expression noticeably lightened. “ _I’m Luca. Luca Arrigoni.”_ He held out his hand to shake. _“There’s a good Italian restaurant just over there._ ” He turned slightly and pointed at a small restaurant across the street a little ways down with a green-and-white striped awning hanging over a few tables and chairs. “ _Let’s get something to eat, and we’ll see about that black eye, yeah?_ ”

     Enzo hesitated for just a moment. His mother had always told him never to go anywhere with strangers, but this man, as frightening as he looked, had made the other boy go away. And he spoke Italian, just like him, even if the accent was a little different. And the restaurant was right over there still on the main street. Nodding after a moment, Enzo took the proffered hand and allowed himself to be gently pulled up onto his feet.

    At the restaurant, Luca greeted the fat man who came to welcome them with a hug. Speaking Italian rapidly with what Enzo now recognised as a Sicilian accent, Luca explained how he found the boy and requested some ice and a cup of hot chocolate. The man frowned when he heard about the bully and shook his head sadly before smoothing his expression and coming over to Enzo. He clapped him on the shoulder, beaming.

 _"Salvatore Costa. You can call me Papa Sal. So you got into a little fight, eh? Not to worry, little one. Come, sit,”_ the man boomed, guiding Enzo to a booth in the corner. Luca followed and slid in opposite to the boy. Humming to himself, the restaurant owner bustled off.

 _“Sal’s a good man. Don’t ever tell him you’re hungry unless you want to be fed to death, though,”_ Luca said, the barest hint of a lift to the corner of his mouth. For the first time, Enzo smiled. Looking pleased, Luca picked up the one-page menu to have a scan.

 _“As if you don’t know what I cook here,”_ Salvatore said scornfully, coming back with a tray bearing a glass of ice, a wet cloth, a steaming mug, and a frosty pint of beer with a head that threatened to spill over. He snatched the menu from Luca’s hands and thwapped him on the head with it.

 _“This man,”_ Sal said to Enzo, chuckling, _“eats here more than he probably eats at home. It’s like I’m his mother or something.”_ Enzo giggled, imagining Sal as a mother to the rough-looking man across from him. Beaming, Sal ruffled his hair. _“Ah, good, you can laugh! Now put some ice over your eye and drink this.”_ He handed Enzo the cold compress and helped him position it over his black eye before placing the mug of thick, Italian-style hot chocolate down in front of him.

    Smiling shyly, Enzo thanked him and took a sip. Grinning at the happy expression on the boy’s face, Sal bragged, _“It’s good, eh?”_

    Setting the beer down in front of Luca and promising to bring out several dishes, Sal swaggered back to the kitchen.

    A few moments of silence passed with Enzo stealing quick, bashful glances at Luca, who considerately pretended not to notice as he flicked through his phone. He had a message from Pellio demanding to know where he was, to which he sent off one of his saved replies—“m busy, fuck off”—and silenced his phone.

     “Uhm…,” Enzo started shyly, fiddling with the handle of his mug. Looking up, Luca put his phone down and nodded encouragingly to show he was listening. He made a conscientious effort to relax his features into something a little more welcoming than his usual glare.

_“Thank…thank you for helping me, Signor Arrigoni. You’re very kind.”_

    Luca waved a hand. _“I’m not. But you’re very welcome. And just call me Luca.”_ He made an effort towards a reassuring smile and managed a lift to the corner of his mouth.

    He was rewarded with a smile like the sun that, coupled with the tender sight of the ice pack held to the boy’s face, stirred something he long thought dead inside him. He wasn’t sure if what he was feeling could be called “protectiveness” but he suddenly felt a strong desire to kill anybody who hurt this child he had met just an hour ago.

 _“Who did this to you, Enzo?_ ” Luca asked casually, as if just making conversation.

    The smile on Enzo’s face faded and he went back to playing with the mug’s handle. _“Don’t know.”_

    He was lying, Luca knew that. Seeing how Enzo retreated like a turtle back into his shell, though, he decided to leave off for now.

    They were saved from too long an awkward silence by the arrival of the food, the steaming dishes transported aloft Sal’s work-thickened hands.

 _“Spaghetti bolognese_ ,” Sal announced, setting a beautiful pile of fresh pasta smothered in a bright tomato sauce aromatic with garlic and rich with meat down in front of Enzo. _“And melanzane alla parmigiana,”_ placing a massive square of the dish in front of Luca.

 _“Eat up, little one, you are far too skinny!”_ Sal fussed over Enzo, placing a fork in his hand. He took the ice pack the boy was currently holding to his face and tutted over the dark bruise. _“Eat, and then we will put a new compress on.”_ With that awfully motherly declaration, Sal hustled off to tend to his other customers.

     Digging into his own plate, Luca watched with no small amount of fascination as Enzo took a few tentative first bites before hunger took over and he simply packed it away. Where, Luca couldn’t actually be certain. It certainly wasn’t sticking to his ribs, though.

     It wasn’t exactly a smile that crossed Luca’s face at seeing Enzo sigh happily and push his empty plate aside to cradle the still warm mug of hot chocolate between his hands, but Luca’s face was noticeably softer as he finished his own food.

    When both plates were clean and there was a fresh cool compress resting on Enzo’s eye, Luca pushed out of the booth with a grunt and jerked his head towards the door. _“C’mon, I’ll take you ‘ome, kid.”_

    Enzo shot to his feet, stumbling slightly in his haste, anxious about making Luca wait. It reminded Luca of a puppy scrambling to keep up. _“Y-you sure? It’s far. I live on the other side of town.”_

 _“You over in East London?”_ Luca guessed, holding the door open and gesturing for the boy to go on.

_“Y-yeah. Near Farringdon.”_

_“Perfect, I’m over near there myself,”_ Luca said. He led Enzo several streets over to where a flat black BMW M3 was parked off the street in an alley. A spotty youth in an ill-fitting suit was leaning against it, messing about on his phone.

    “Davey,” Luca called by way of greeting.

    Looking up, the kid immediately snapped to attention. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he wiped his hands nervously on his trousers. “Alright, boss?” His eyes flicked to Enzo curiously, taking in his beaten state and black eye. “Who’s the kid?”

    “Kid’s alright, don’t fuss,” Luca said, holding his hand out. Davey immediately put a set of car keys in his hand and opened the passenger door respectfully. Luca nodded at Enzo. _“Go on, get in. I’m taking you home.”_

    Hesitantly, Enzo slid into the sports car with no small amount of awe. He’d seen these cars before when his mother had taken him to the West End once. They were fast. And expensive.

    Davey shut the door and looked to Luca for instruction.

    “Thanks for lookin’ after the car, Davey. Go on and get a cab ‘ome, you’re done for the day. Keep the receipt and give it to Julie later, alright?” Luca said, getting into the driver’s side. The engine started with a loud growl, the low sound reverberating off the brick.

    “Alright, boss, no problem,” Davey said easily.

    Pulling out onto the narrow road, Luca looked over at Enzo. “Alright, where we goin’, _bambino_?”

           

     Twenty minutes later, they were driving through Clerkenwell. As they were pulling up in front of one of the newer council flats, Enzo turned to Luca and asked a question he had been wondering since he saw the car.

_“Signor Arrigoni…what do you do?”_

_“Me?”_ Luca managed to find a spot on the street and parked. _“I’m…a contractor. And I told you to call me Luca.”_

     “Oh….” Enzo said thoughtfully. They both got out of the car and started walking up. _“Maybe I want to be one, too! You can have such a nice car!”_

     At that, Luca gave a humourless chuckle. _“Not sure it’s something you’d like doing, kid. Stay in school.”_

     They stopped in front of a door on the fourth floor. Glancing down at Enzo, who was fumbling to get his key from his pocket, Luca took the now warm ice pack from him and straightened his collar a little. Smiling up at him happily, Enzo unlocked the door.

     “Mama, it’s me!”

     There was a commotion from inside the flat and a short woman with her reddish brown hair up in a messy bun came rushing out. Even with no makeup and the tired bags underneath her eyes that all the poor seemed to have, she was still pretty. _“Baby! It’s so late, I was so worried!”_ She gathered her son in her arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead before standing back and taking a good look at him. _“My god! What happened to you, baby? Oh my God_ ,” she cried, running her hands over Enzo’s face.

     Looking up, she noticed Luca for the first time. “Who are you?” she said, not unfriendly, in thickly accented English.

 _“Mama, this is Signor Arrigoni. He helped me after he found me,”_ Enzo said happily, breaking away from his mother’s hold to tug Luca in closer by the sleeve. Luca surprised himself by willingly letting himself be pulled in.

     Forcing himself to give some semblance of a smile, or at least a softening of his usually stony expression, Luca held out his hand. _“Please call me Luca, signora. Sorry to impose, but I thought it best to bring Enzo home myself after what happened. I found him being bothered by some older boys. He’s a good kid.”_

     Clasping Luca’s hand gratefully, Enzo’s mother beamed up at him. _“Thank you, thank you, signor. I don’t have much money, but please, if there is any way I can repay you—”_

    Luca stopped her gently with a hand. _“No need, signora, please. I’m grateful for the opportunity to do something good for once.”_ They had no idea how true that was.

    Taking out a pen and a scrap of paper, Luca scrawled out an address and a phone number. He handed the paper to the woman, who took it curiously. _“I actually live close by. If you need anything at all, please let me know.”_

    As he was making to leave, Enzo darted over and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. Luca tensed at the sudden contact before relaxing, reminding himself that it was just a child and not an attack. He patted Enzo awkwardly on the back, unused to such displays of affection. _“Take care of that eye, kid. I’ll be around if you need anything, alright?”_

    Nodding rapidly, Enzo smiled brightly. Luca bet without the bruises, that smile would have drowned out the sun. _“Thank you for everything, sig--Luca.”_

    Enzo’s mother joined them and gently drew Enzo back. _“Thank you, Luca. You are always welcome in our home –”_

           

     The buzzing of Luca’s phone on the bedside table woke him up abruptly, the dregs of his dream flowing away like water down a drain. He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, but it had left him with this inexplicable feeling of nostalgia and dread. He was able to physically shake himself awake but he was unable to shake that sick feeling.


End file.
